


Doomed to Repeat It

by Drogna



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: 5+1 without the +1, Child Abuse, Doomworld AU, Episode: s02e16 Doomworld, Evil!Rip is Back, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Asylums are Awful, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Protective Mick Rory, Protective Sara Lance, Rip Needs A HUg, Rip needs help, Snart Lives in One of These, Snipers are Human Too, Team as Family, Torture, Whump, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-15 14:59:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 77,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11233404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drogna/pseuds/Drogna
Summary: "I can only imagine how those psychopaths are torturing Rip," - Ray Palmer, DoomworldFive ways that Eobard Thawne could have decided to torture Rip Hunter, and five ways that the team rescued him and saved the day. Each story focuses on a different member of the crew and their interactions with Rip whilst they're trapped in Doomworld. Even though they don't always have their memories or even know who they are, they're still there to help each other through the hard times. Some times are harder than others for Rip, especially since it appears Thawne really wants him to suffer for everything that he's done to stop him getting the Spear of Destiny.Specific warnings for each story will appear in the notes at the beginning of each chapter.1. Gideon/Rip, 2. Mick and Rip, 3. Sara and Rip, 4. Amaya and (Evil)Rip, 5. Ray and Rip





	1. Gideon and The Patient or One Flew Over the Waverider's Nest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thawne took Gideon's memories but made her human. She's been looking after Prisoner 1138 and unwittingly torturing him for months.
> 
> Warnings: Non-consensual drug use, mental health issues, forced treatment for non-existent mental health issues, restraint, medical torture, mind games
> 
> This sort of unintentionally became TimeShip, but there's only one kiss right at the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a collection of Doomworld AUs in which a lot of very bad stuff happens to Rip. It is quite dark in places and I've made Rip thoroughly miserable in various ways. Luckily the team is always there to rescue him, sometimes more successfully than others. Each one gives an alternate story line for Doomworld and what might have happened if Rip hadn't just been stuck on the Waverider. Sometimes they pretty much follow the plot of the episode, others turned out rather differently.

* * *

 

It was only because Sara had seen her in Rip’s mindscape that she recognised her. She was in a white nurse’s outfit, starched to perfection and looking at the rescue party of Sara and Jax with flawless pouting lips and an angry expression. She was the matron of this ward, stood behind the desk at the entrance to the locked ward, which made perfect sense given who else was here. It was Jax who said her name though.

“Gideon!” he said in surprise. Which was a problem because they were undercover, and Jax might just have blown it by knowing a name he wasn’t supposed to, but neither of them had expected to see a human Gideon, so she understood the slip up.

Sara quickly covered for him by making a show of checking the name tag that Gideon was wearing. “Matron Gideon, we’re here for a prisoner transfer.”

“I assume you have the relevant paperwork,” said Matron Gideon, coldly imperious and very unlike the warm individual Sara had met in Rip’s mind.

Sara needed to find somewhere quiet and unobserved where she could use the memory gun. She really hoped it would still work on AIs turned human. However, given where they were and that the entire point of this grim and desolate place was to keep the inmates under observation at all times, it was going to be hard.

“I’m Mr Darhk’s personal guard. I don’t need paperwork,” said Sara, making herself as menacing as she could.

“If that were the case then anyone could just walk in here and check out a prisoner,” said Gideon. “I’m not releasing anyone that’s in my care without the correct paperwork and knowing that provisions for their care have been made wherever you’re taking them.”

Sara made a show of rolling her eyes. “Fine. Let’s call it in. Have you got an office somewhere around here with a phone?”

Gideon nodded, still clearly suspicious, but she handed her post over to another nurse and led the way towards a side room. As soon as the door closed behind them, Jax had the gun out and had shot Gideon. The reaction was immediate. Gideon’s eyes went wide.

“Captain Lance, Mr Jackson…” she tailed off and then a hand went to her mouth, and huge tears welled in her eyes. She backed away and into the desk. “Oh no. No, I can’t have…”

Sara approached Gideon slowly. “Gideon? I don’t know what you’ve been through but I know it wasn’t good. I wish I had time to help you deal with it, but we need to find Rip and get him out of here. We can deal with everything else later.”

Gideon nodded, wiping away her tears and straightening her uniform. “Yes, you’re right. We need to get him out of here immediately. Follow me.”

She seemed to turn her previous persona back on, and then she strode out of the room, past the nurse on duty, giving her a signal to open the locked door for them. The nurse pressed a button under the desk and a buzzer sounded indicating that they could enter.

“We’ll need a wheelchair. These people are Mr Darhk’s personal guard and they have orders to transfer Prisoner 1138 to a new facility,” said Gideon.

“Of course, Matron,” said the nurse, and she left the desk for a moment and returned with the wheelchair. Gideon took it from her. “Will you be requiring chemical restraints?”

The nurse seemed to anticipate an affirmative answer and was already going to a locked cabinet. The nurse took out a vial and drew up a dose into a syringe. Clearly patients were drugged into submission here as a matter of course. Sara suppressed a shudder and tried to maintain her calm exterior.

“Yes, standard procedure,” replied Gideon.

“He can be quite difficult when he’s having one of his days. Luckily, they seem to be happening less often now,” said the nurse as she handed Gideon a capped syringe, which Gideon pocketed.

Sara saw a look of pain cross Gideon’s expression, but then it was gone as she quickly schooled her features again. They moved forwards into the locked ward and the door swung shut behind them.

Gideon spoke quietly as they walked into a long corridor with small locked rooms on each side. “This is the locked ward that Captain Hunter is being kept on. He’s in a cell at the end of the corridor. You should prepare yourself for his condition. He’s been here over a year and hasn’t received the best care.”

Sara could hear people shouting and screaming from the rooms. Small windows in the doors of each cell gave her glimpses of the deeply disturbed people within, some were ranting and raving, others were disturbingly still. When they’d found out where Rip was, she’d been very worried, and now she was having that worry justified, tenfold.

“My god,” breathed Jax, beside her. “Sara…”

“I know, Jax, but let’s just concentrate on getting Rip,” said Sara. She couldn’t let her emotions out right now, this was going to be hard enough.

Gideon stopped outside a room and typed in a code to the combination pad beside the door. She opened the door and revealed the spartan room inside. The only furniture was the bed that Rip was lying on, in four point restraints. He was staring at a spot on the wall to his left, dressed only in white scrubs, and his head had been shaved. He’d lost weight, his beard was unkempt, and his skin had an unhealthy pallor to it. Sara spotted numerous bruises on his skin, some mottled with age, and two red marks, one on either side of his head. He didn’t react as they entered, and that disturbed her more than anything.

“There is a camera,” murmured Gideon, “so I must apologise in advance for what I’m about to do.”

“If we can block the view of the camera we can use the reality gun on him here,” said Sara, quietly. “It might make this easier if he has his memories back.”

“He has always had his memories, Captain Lance,” said Gideon, sadly.

Jax glanced at Sara and then back at Rip with horror. They both knew that having their memories restored hadn’t exactly been a pleasant experience but it had helped to put some distance between their ordeals and their real selves. Sara was suddenly filled with a desire to strangle Eobard Thawne with her bare hands, but that would have to wait.

“Help me with the restraints,” said Gideon. “He has been given powerful antipsychotics and they have the side effect of dulling his senses and making him sleepy, but he may react to us given time. He is usually dizzy when moved. Don’t expect him to recognise you and don’t be offended if he is afraid of you. Most people who have come to visit him are not well intentioned.”

Gideon moved to Rip’s side and began to undo the restraints. “Captain Hunter,” she said, gently, as if the name was something special that she’d longed to say for a while. “I’m going to release your restraints, Miss Lance and Mr Jackson are here to take you home.”

Sara could hear the catch in Gideon’s voice, the unshed tears that would have to wait until later. Sara went to undo the buckles that were around his ankles, as Gideon unlocked the padded restraints around his wrists. She saw the way Gideon’s hands lingers for a few seconds longer than necessary on his arms. His eyes slid across to Gideon’s face, sluggishly as if he was moving in slow motion.

“Gideon,” he murmured, his voice hardly there at all, “you called me Captain. You’re not supposed to pander to my delusions.”

“They weren’t delusions, Captain,” said Gideon, simply. “I’m sorry for everything that I’ve put you through. Eobard Thawne made me forget you.”

Rip shook his head, weakly. “Don’t test me, Gideon, it isn’t fair. I want to get better.”

Gideon closed her eyes for a moment, and then her previous harsh tone returned. “We’re moving you to another facility, Prisoner 1138. You are aware of the transport procedure.”

Rip gave a small nod and meekly held out an arm. Again, Jax shot her a horrified look, but Sara shook her head. Now was not the time to contemplate what had been done to Rip to turn him into someone who would willingly allow himself to be drugged. Gideon uncapped the syringe and found a vein, dispensing only about half of the drug into Rip’s arm. The rest she squirted away onto the bed sheet.

“That will be enough to give the illusion that he is properly sedated,” she said, and Sara noticed the frown on Rip’s face as his eyes fell shut.

“He really believes that he’s ill,” said Sara, with horror.

“He does,” said Gideon. “Although it took a great deal of time and effort to make him think so. He was told that he had suffered a psychotic break after he killed his wife and child.”

“Oh man,” said Jax. “That is messed up.”

“Please help me get him into the wheelchair and then we can leave this place. It would be best if we do that before the sedative wears off.” Gideon brushed a hand down Rip’s bruised cheek affectionately.

Jax and Sara helped Gideon lift Rip into the wheelchair. There were restraints attached to it and Gideon fastened them with a guilty look in her eyes, but Sara knew that questions would be asked if the usual procedures weren’t followed, and they set off down the corridor. Rip was slumped in the chair, completely unconscious. Gideon flashed her ID, signed off some paperwork, and got them through the various checks without any trouble. Then they were pushing Rip out into the sunshine, away from the horrors of the asylum and into the van where Ray, Nate and Mick were waiting. They got Rip strapped in, dumped the wheelchair and made their escape as quickly as possible.

Sara didn’t fully believe that they’d gotten away with the rescue until the Arkham Asylum sign was receding in the rear-view mirror.

“Who’s this?” asked Ray, looking at Gideon, before turning back to the road.

“Oh yeah, you never got to meet her,” said Jax. “Guys, this is Gideon. Eobard Thawne made her human.”

“Wow,” was the response from Ray. “She’s…er… yes.”

“My apologies for not introducing myself, Doctor Palmer,” said Gideon, she had wound her fingers into Rip’s and was taking his pulse with her free hand. “Could you give me an ETA to our destination? The Captain will be waking up soon and I’m not entirely sure how he is going to react.”

“About half an hour, Gideon,” said Ray.

“Didn’t the reality gun work?” asked Nate.

“He didn’t need it. He’s had his memories all along,” said Sara.

“Allowing Mr Thawne to torture him by subverting those memories and making him believe that he was mentally ill,” said Gideon.

“He was in a mental asylum. What did you expect?” asked Mick. “We only found him because Thawne kept coming here to taunt him.”

“I remember Mr Thawne’s visits,” said Gideon. “Often Captain Hunter would have to be sedated after them because he was angry and occasionally violent. I tried to stop the visits at one point, but none of the doctors would agree to it. I realise why now.”

Everyone was silent for a moment.

“We need to go and get the rest of the team before Thawne realises what’s happening,” said Sara. “I’ll go back for Amaya, and then we’ll go get Stein. Gideon and Rip can stay in Nate’s Mom’s basement, assuming you think you can cope, Gideon?”

“I’m not sure that I’m the best choice,” said Gideon. “I unknowingly participated in his abuse. I forced him to take medication that he didn’t need and restrained him without reason. I allowed him to think that he was ill, and I let them shave his head and give him electroshock therapy. I helped them to hurt him.”

There were tears in her eyes, and Sara could understand why. Thawne had got one of the people that Rip cared about most to be part of his incarceration and torture. That would wound both of them and Thawne had known it.

“And once the drugs have worn off and he’s feeling more like himself, he’ll know that you didn’t do it willingly,” said Sara. “I’m beginning to understand how Rip felt after Thawne altered his memories. It sucks, what the Legion of Doom did to us, but we all have to get past it, because we still need to find the Waverider so that we can sort out this mess.”

They drove on for a while until they entered a street with white picket fences and large houses. It was the picture normality and the stereotype of modern suburban life.

“Nearly there,” said Ray.

Rip stirred, rolling his head from side to side.

“Rip?” asked Sara.

His eyes opened gradually and he blinked. “Where am I?” he asked, looking around him. He stiffened in his seat, his entire posture defensive but his movements slow.

“With friends,” said Sara.

Rip shook his head and closed his eyes. “No, you’re a delusion. You don’t exist. I made you up to help me deal with killing Jonas and Miranda.”

Sara reached out and took the hand that Gideon currently wasn’t holding. “We’re here, Rip. We’re real. You were lied to. You didn’t kill Jonas and Miranda.”

He shook his head, removing his hand from Sara’s as if he had been burnt, and mumbled more to himself than any of them. “No, I want to get better. I want to get better.”

“Captain Hunter,” said Gideon. “It’s true. You were put in Arkham because you were a threat to Eobard Thawne. Please, you need to try to remember.”

“Gideon, no more tests, please,” murmured Rip. “Don’t call me Captain. They’ll increase my meds again and I don’t even know what day of the week it is, or… or… they’ll do worse. I’m trying. I want to get better.”

The van drew to a stop. Sara sighed. Persuading Rip to throw off months of brainwashing wasn’t going to be easy, especially when they’d apparently got him believing that nothing he saw was real. She didn’t even want to know what was worse than being constantly drugged into oblivion without his consent. Nate, Ray and Mick were getting out and pulling back the side door so that they could get out too.

“He will need help,” said Gideon. “The drugs make him dizzy and uncoordinated.”

Sara offered him a hand up and Rip cowered away, shaking his head.

“Mick?” asked Sara.

Rip struggled weakly at being manhandled out of the van by Mick, who simply slung him over his shoulder, but it wasn’t anything that the arsonist couldn’t deal with. Gideon stayed by Rip’s side, always within touching range. She was doing her best to keep him calm, because despite what she’d said, Rip still seemed to respond to her and no one else.

Mick dumped their former captain on Nate’s bed, and moved away. Rip shifted backwards, slowly, so that he was as close to the wall as he could manage. He was watching them all with wary eyes as if he didn’t even really know who they were.

He screwed his eyes shut. “Just a delusion,” he mumbled. “I want to get better.”

Sara could see that tears were now running down Gideon’s face. This was clearly hurting her a great deal. Ray went over to Rip and sat down on the end of the bed.

“Rip, I’m Ray Palmer, the Atom, you know me,” he reached out a hand towards Rip, waiting for him to make a move to reach out in return. “I’m real. No one here is going to hurt you or drug you if you say the wrong thing.”

Rip looked at Ray warily and then closed his eyes, he pulled his legs up to his chest, rested his head on his knees and wrapped his arms around his legs. “I don’t know what’s real anymore,” he said, miserably, tensing as if he expected to be punished for that small declaration.

Gideon rapidly moved forwards and then was kneeling beside him, on the floor by the bed. “They are, Captain.”

His eyes sprang open. “How did you know to say that…?” he frowned.

“Because I was there,” said Gideon. “They lied to you, Captain. Everything that they told you was wrong. You’re Rip Hunter, Captain of the Waverider. You have a crew and they came to rescue you.”

Sara moved closer now too. “She’s right, we did.”

Rip looked around him at the assembled figures and closed his eyes again, resting his forehead on his knees as he shook in fear. “Gideon, I don’t understand. I’m Prisoner 1138. Please, don’t let them… I don’t understand the test. I want to get better, but I don’t understand what I’m supposed to say.” He was clearly agitated and Sara wasn’t sure what to do. They’d seemed close there to getting him to realise what was going on, but then it had faded and now it was just distressing him.

“I’m here, 1138,” said Gideon, and she sat on the bed beside him and pulled him into a hug. That seemed to comfort him.

“You always are,” said Rip, quietly.

Sara sighed. “I think we should back off for a bit,” she said to the assembled team members, and they moved across the room, out of Rip’s direct eyesight.

No one seemed to feel like talking. They just listened to Gideon quietly reassuring Rip, or “1138” as she called him, that everything would be fine and no one was going to punish him for what he’d said. A few moments later, Gideon joined them, wiping away more tears.

“He’s sleeping,” she said. “The drugs in his system are making it hard for him to think clearly and stay awake. I don’t think we’ll be able to convince him that we’re real until after they’ve left his system.”

“Gideon, we need to know what they did to him. All of it,” said Sara.

There was nothing but pain in Gideon’s eyes. “When he was brought in, they immediately began feeding him the story that he’d killed his family and created a fantasy that he was a time traveller to help him deal with his actions, but he refused to believe what they told him. He also refused to take the medication that was prescribed for him, so they restrained him and injected him with it instead at much higher doses. It didn’t take him long to decide that he’d rather take the pills on his own terms and be less drugged. He was able to maintain a reasonable level of awareness, but his persistent insistence that his supposed delusions were real led to increased medication and… other treatments.”

“What other treatments?” asked Ray.

“Mainly ice baths, supposedly to shock the mind into reality but basically just creating hypothermia and discomfort, and electroshock therapy, which left him incoherent and with memory problems. He resisted once it became clear what they had in mind, and force was often used, sometimes excessively. You have seen the bruises on his skin.”

Sara nodded. They had immediately alerted her to the kind of place that Arkham was.

Gideon continued. “One orderly broke his arm and then put him in restraints. I was off duty at the time, and when I returned… I ensured that he was properly treated, but it must have been very painful for several hours before that. He endured intensive therapy sessions every day where they told him he was lying and delusional, a murderer. They encouraged him to get better by denying his delusions and they punished him with medication that made him ill when he didn’t change his ideas. Eventually he began to believe what they were telling him, although occasionally he’d still have a day when he seemed to remember reality again. They’d ask him test questions during therapy to catch him out and punish him if he said something wrong.”

Sara understood some of the things that Rip had said now: “don’t test me, it isn’t fair”, and he’d almost pleaded with Gideon: “no more tests”. For someone having trouble separating reality from delusion it must have been a game stacked against him, especially with drugs confusing him and making it harder to think. It must have been like having to remember an intricate lie.

Gideon took a deep breath. “And I stood by and let them do it all. I thought I was helping him. I encouraged him to listen to them. I made sure he took his medication and forced it on him when he wouldn’t. I even strapped him into restraints when he wouldn’t do what he was told. I tried not to be cruel, like some of the nurses, but everything that was done to him was cruel.”

Gideon sat down in one of the armchairs, heavily, covered her face, and sobbed. “And now he can’t even hear his own name without worrying that someone will hurt him for it.”

Jax sat on the arm of the chair and comforted her with an arm around her shoulders. Sara had always known that Rip wasn’t Gideon’s only admirer on the ship, and she was glad that Jax was there for her when Rip couldn’t be.

Ray, Sara and Nate exchanged looks, somewhat worriedly.

“I have a bit of insight into what it’s like to have no one believe what you say,” said Nate, quietly. “It destroys you after a while, and that’s without drugs and torture.” He looked back towards Rip with concern.

 “This isn’t going to be easy,” said Ray. “Thawne spent an entire year making him believe that we aren’t real. I don’t know how we undo all that.”

 “First things first,” said Sara. “I need to get Amaya. I’ll leave you guys here to look after Rip and Gideon, while I go see Darhk.”

“You’re on dangerous ground, blondie,” said Mick, who was halfway through a sandwich and apparently had finally decided to join the conversation.

“I know, but hopefully no one’s realised that I’m not still under Darhk’s control,” said Sara, checking her knives as she headed towards he door.

“Sara, be careful,” said Jax.

“I will be, don’t worry,” said Sara.

***

Rip was a murderer. He’d killed his wife and child. His beautiful Miranda and Jonas were dead and it was his fault. Nothing would ever be right again. He didn’t remember killing them. He did remember holding them in his arms, their blood on his hands, and that was enough. Somehow, he’d concocted a delusion in which he was a time traveller who had gone back in time to try to save his wife and child, but he’d failed. The psychotherapists had been very interested in that detail. Apparently, it was his subconscious’ way of telling him that none of it was real.

Except that the delusion was more real some days than where he found himself now. He even remembered when he first arrived in Arkham and he’d truly believed the delusion was real. He’d fought everything, they’d had to restrain him and some of the treatment he’d received had been unpleasant to say the least, but he was wrong, he understood that now, well, most of the time. It was hard to keep everything straight. Sometimes he still believed that he was Captain Rip Hunter of the Waverider, but he was trying to get better. They’d promised to reduce his medication and move him into one of the lower security wards if he passed their tests, so he had a goal to work towards.

Most days he was too drugged to think hard about anything. He drifted. The highlight of his day was when Matron Gideon came on shift. She was the only member of staff who’d consistently been kind to him. She’d never hit him or hurt him unnecessarily. When they took him for ice therapy, she sat with him and talked to him as he shivered. She had apologised when she’d shaved his head for electroshock therapy and held his hand as he recovered afterwards, even though she wasn’t supposed to do that.

He’d inserted her into his delusion at some point as the AI on his time ship, and then he’d persuaded himself that Mr Thawne had somehow turned her into a human. He’d tried to tell her this at first, pleaded with her to believe him, but of course she’d set him straight. He was Prisoner 1138 and he needed psychiatric treatment for his delusions. When no one was around she’d just call him 1138, as if he was a real person who mattered and not a murderer. Some days he thought that this was his Gideon showing through the personality that Thawne had given her, other days he knew that it was just because she was a kind woman who actually took her responsibility to her patients seriously. Either way, he liked her and was pleased to see her as a bright point in the misery of his existence in Arkham.

Then, one day, she called him Captain, something she was forbidden to do, and if Rip had said it then he’d probably have been receiving more electroshock therapy the following day. He wondered if it was another one of their tests to see if their treatment was working, but Gideon wouldn’t do that. At least he didn’t think she would. He trusted her and when she told him he was being moved, he didn’t hesitate to allow her to follow protocol and sedate him. However, as he fell asleep he thought he heard her say something strange.

Things continued strangely, he woke up whilst he was being moved and there were other people there. He also wasn’t restrained in any way, which was new. After the second escape attempt, they’d put a note on his file that he was always to be restrained whilst being moved anywhere. Gideon had mentioned it once whilst reluctantly strapping him into a wheelchair to take him to the exercise yard.

His delusions were making their presence felt and he was more confused than ever. The drugs he was given had left him tired as always and his vision was permanently distorted, but he’d learnt to live with it, just as he’d learnt to take everything more slowly to allow his drugged brain time to catch up. At least Gideon was there and hopefully she’d help him understand whatever was going on.

He’d been rather unceremoniously dumped on a bed and one of his delusions had tried to have a conversation with him, but he knew better than to respond. Even admitting that he was having difficulty working out what was real might get him into trouble, but Gideon reassured him that it was fine, even though he didn’t understand why she was suddenly agreeing that his delusions were valid. They finally left him alone with her and she hugged him, something she’d never done before.

“Gideon?” he asked. “Where am I?”

“You are safe, 1138,” she replied. “These people are friends. They’re going to help us.”

“It’s not a hospital, is it?” he asked. It looked more like someone’s basement.

“No, it isn’t, but you’re not sick. You never were,” said Gideon.

“I’m seeing the delusions again,” he said. “I must be sick. Please don’t tell the doctors I’m worse again. I’m trying hard to get better.”

“They’re not delusions, 1138, they’re your crew,” said Gideon.

“Is this a test?” he asked, very worried now. He’d already given too many wrong answers if it was. “I don’t understand and I’m so tired.”

“It isn’t a test. There are no wrong answers, 1138. What they did to you was cruel and I won’t put you through anything like that ever again. I won’t trick you or hurt you or drug you without your consent,” said Gideon, gently. “Now, sleep. I must talk to our crew but I won’t leave the room.”

He nodded, still finding it hard to work out what had happened here. He did as Gideon asked, because someone would force him to if he didn’t do it willingly. The antipsychotics always made him tired, so he had no trouble sleeping. It was something of a novelty to be able to curl up on his side. Normally he was put in four point restraints to sleep. Escape attempt three had earned him that accolade.

He awoke feeling terrible. He was sweating and his stomach was cramping. He knew that this was punishment for failing the test. That was how it always worked. He groaned and Gideon was there at his side in seconds.

“You said it wasn’t a test and there were no wrong answers,” he accused.

“It wasn’t,” said Gideon, putting a hand to his forehead. It felt cool and soothing.

“But you’re punishing me,” he said. “What did I do wrong?”

She shook her head, and now he noticed the red rims around her eyes. She’d been crying recently.

“We’re not punishing you, Captain,” she replied, sadness in her tone.

“1138,” he murmured. “They’ll punish _you_ if you call me Captain.”

“No one is going to punish either of us,” she said. “I think you’re running a temperature because the drugs are leaving your system. Do you feel sick?”

He nodded. His stomach was clenching painfully and he thought he might throw up. He didn’t want to be sick on the bed, if that happened then the orderlies who came to clean it up were often angry and unkind.

“I don’t want to make a mess,” he said, hoping she’d understand.

“I’ll find a bowl,” said Gideon, and she returned a few moments later with an appropriate receptacle. “I’m sorry I can’t give you anything for the pain,” she added. “You need to clear all the drugs from your system, not add more.”

“Don’t I need them?” asked Rip. “They put me on new ones a few weeks ago.”

“You’re not sick, 1138,” she said. “You didn’t murder your family. They told you lies to control you and hurt you.”

“Please, not you too, Gideon,” said Rip, “I can’t think well enough to give the right answers.” He closed his eyes against the emotional pain that he felt at the idea that Gideon would do this to him.

“It’s not a test. I would never do that to you,” she repeated, and she sounded so sad. He had to open his eyes again to look at her, and was surprised to find tears in her eyes.

“You’re crying,” he said. “Why are you crying?” He didn’t like to see her sad.

“Because you didn’t deserve what they did to you and you don’t deserve what you’re about to go through,” she said. “You’re my Captain and I was programmed to protect you, but I failed.”

“You didn’t fail, Gideon,” said Rip. “You were by my side, as you always are.”

For a moment, he hadn’t even considered his words and then he frowned as he realised what he’d said. That wasn’t 1138, that was Captain Hunter who had spent thirteen years with his AI on board his ship.

However, Gideon was smiling at him.

“And always will be,” she replied, simply. “I knew you were still in there, Captain.”

He reached out a hand towards her, something that he’d never been allowed to do in the Asylum, although Gideon had broken the rules herself on occasion. Gideon took his hand and then climbed onto the bed beside him, cradling his head in her lap.

She held him and did her best to soothe him as he entered withdrawal from the antipsychotic drugs that he’d been on, and although he was still confused and scared, Rip knew Gideon would take care of him. It stirred something in his memory, a vague idea that she’d done this for him before when he’d been unable to protect himself. He remembered a kiss, filled with relief and desperation, and then the memory was gone.

***

Sara returned with Amaya to find Rip throwing up the contents of his stomach into a bowl and Gideon talking to him calmly and quietly.

“How’s it going?” asked Sara.

“The drugs are leaving his system,” said Gideon. “It has made him quite ill. However, his mind is also clearing, I think.”

Rip looked up at her as Gideon rubbed circles on his back. His eyebrows drew downwards. “Sara Lance?” he asked, with puzzlement.

“Yes, Captain,” replied Gideon. “She is real. She’s not a delusion.”

Gideon beckoned her over, so she came towards them. Rip was shivering and pale, but he held out a hand towards her and it was clear that he wanted to touch her. She reached out her own hand to him and interlaced her fingers with his, giving him a smile.

“I used to wonder what Thawne had done to you, then I started to believe that I made you all up and I wondered how I’d created such vivid characters from my mind,” said Rip. “But you are real, I didn’t make you up?”

“You didn’t make me up, Rip, I’m real, the Legends are real,” said Sara. “Thawne used the Spear of Destiny to create this world and he put you in the asylum.”

“I’m trying to remember that,” said Rip, shakily, “but it’s been so long since I was allowed to think clearly. It’s hard to keep everything straight.”

“Just hang in there. Once you’re free of the drugs you’ll be able to sort it all out,” said Sara, hoping that she was right. She gave his hand a squeeze.

Rip closed his eyes, clearly in pain. He put a hand to his stomach, suggesting that he was about to throw up again. Gideon had the bowl in place ready in anticipation, but he had very little left to expel at this point, just bile and dry heaves. Sara met Gideon’s eyes and they exchanged a concerned look, as Gideon resumed her soothing murmurs of reassurance.

“It’s okay, you’re nearly there,” said Gideon.

“I just want to sleep,” murmured Rip, lying back on the bed miserably.

“I know,” said Gideon. “See if you can manage to rest, at least a little.”

“I don’t understand what I said wrong,” said Rip. “Why did I fail the test, Gideon? Why are they doing this? I don’t even remember the questions.”

Gideon hung her head and Sara realised that whilst Rip might have recognised her, he still wasn’t completely free of the influence of Arkham. He was lapsing in and out of understanding, believing that this was punishment for giving the wrong answers to one of their tests.

“It isn’t a punishment, Captain, you’re just ill,” said Gideon. “It was the drugs that they gave you and you were on them for several months.”

Sara really wanted to hurt Thawne for this. Even Darhk hadn’t been this cruel with his punishment of the Legends. He’d just put her and Amaya to work, but on his side. He hadn’t tortured them like Rip had been tortured. She shook her head, wishing she didn’t have to leave him with Gideon and continue the mission, but she had to reverse all this. They needed to get the Spear of Destiny back.

Sara gave Rip’s hand a final, gentle squeeze and then got to her feet, indicating that Gideon should follow her away from the bed. Gideon murmured something to him and he curled up on his side with a nod.

“He’s still confused?” asked Sara, quietly so that Rip couldn’t hear.

“I’m afraid so,” said Gideon, “but at least he didn’t say you were a delusion. He seems to relapse when the pain is bad. He associates it with the Asylum and what they did to him there if he wasn’t compliant.”

“Do you have any idea how long this is going to take?” asked Sara.

“It will probably be several more hours,” said Gideon. “If we were on the Waverider then this would be much easier, but I have no idea where the ship might be.”

“Me neither,” said Sara. “But before we find the Waverider, we need to go and get Stein and stop him from building whatever it is that he’s building for Thawne. And it could be dangerous. So, if you don’t hear from us within three hours, you take Rip and you get out of the city. Thawne hasn’t thought to look for us here yet, but it’s only a matter of time.”

Gideon nodded. “I understand. I will keep him safe.”

Sara appreciated that. It was much easier to attend to business if she knew that Rip was safe with Gideon. They made their plan, leaving Mick with Gideon to keep watch.

Unfortunately, it all went wrong from the moment they entered the building.

***

Mick had left them shortly after the Legends had gone to the lab, mumbling crossly. At least her Captain did seem to be getting better. Several hours passed before the team returned, by which point, Rip was sleeping. He was still shivering and couldn’t keep anything down, but the violent cramps had ceased and he wasn’t in constant pain anymore.

Gideon smiled at the returning team as they entered the room, but her face fell as she noted their expressions.

“You were unsuccessful,” she said. They all looked utterly miserable and defeated.

“Thawne destroyed the Spear,” said Ray.

“And then he told us we could all go because we couldn’t touch him anyway,” said Ray, dismally.

“Amaya’s dead,” said Nate, “Snart killed her.”

“We couldn’t restore Grey’s memories either,” said Jax, thumping down in a seat.

Mick slammed his hand into a small table destroying it utterly. Gideon felt for her crew. This was a disaster and she could do nothing to help them. She was designed to protect, not just her Captain, but also her crew and she cared about all of them a great deal.

“My Mom’s not going to be cool with that,” said Nate, flatly, not even really looking at the destruction.

“We need the Waverider,” said Sara. “We’re going to have to find it.”

“Yeah, but how?” asked Ray.

“Maybe Rip knows where it is,” said Jax.

Gideon looked back towards the bed where her Captain was finally sleeping. “You will have to wait to ask him. He is currently sleeping and I don’t want to wake him. He is exhausted after the withdrawal from the antipsychotics.”

Sara nodded. “Don’t worry, we’ve got the time to let him rest. Thawne’s clearly decided we’re not worth pursuing for now. I’d suggest we all get some sleep and come at this fresh tomorrow.”

There were murmurs of agreement, and Nate left to ask his mother for more blankets and pillows, since Rip had taken over the bed. Gideon watched them all bed down, making sure that everyone was settled before she took her own blankets to the piece of floor closest to her Captain. She might be needed in the night. He was already somewhat restless and she anticipated nightmares.

The first one came early in the night and she was able to deal with it before it could wake any of the others. She called his name, and it seemed to be enough to shake him from it. The second was more violent and he awoke screaming from it, his eyes wide and frightened. She comforted him, trying to get him to go back to sleep quickly. The rest of the team stirred, and a few heads raised from their beds and looked in their direction before realising that she had it under control and settling again. She gave up any pretence of sleeping on the floor and lay down beside him, wrapping her arms around him, and he didn’t wake again.

Gideon finally allowed herself to hope that she might be able to bring him through this and make him whole again.

***

Rip awoke feeling clearer than he had in months. He was still weak and shaky, but this was better than drugged out of his mind and unable to discern what was reality. Although to be honest he was still having trouble with that, even though he couldn’t blame the drugs for his confusion any longer. He realised that during the night he’d unconsciously moved himself into the spread-eagled position that he’d been forced to sleep in when he was restrained in the Asylum. He inwardly sighed and moved to curl up on his side again, luxuriating in the mere ability to change position so easily.

He had a strange memory of Gideon being beside him during the night, but she wasn’t there now. Perhaps he’d dreamed it as an antithesis to his nightmares. He tried to sit up and immediately realised how weak his muscles were and how drained he still felt. He closed his eyes for a moment, hoping that he’d somehow magically feel like he hadn’t gone ten rounds with Mick Rory when he opened them.

“Hey,” said a voice, and he opened his eyes to see Sara standing by his bed, holding a plate.

Rip frowned. “Sara?”

“Yes, in the flesh, and yes, I am real,” she replied and sat down on the end of the bed. The sudden movement had him flinching away as his instinctive reactions kicked in. He’d spent a year with people that were happy to hit him if he did anything wrong and sometimes even when he hadn’t.

“It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you,” said Sara. “I just thought you might like some toast.”

Rip’s stomach growled, but he still felt slightly nauseous. He pulled the blankets closer around him. “Uh, thank you, but I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”

“Just try a little, and maybe some sips of water,” suggested Sara, indicating the glass of water sat on the nightstand beside the bed. “You don’t want to get dehydrated, it’ll just make you feel worse.”

Rip gave a small nod. Her voice sounded like she was giving an order, so he’d try to do as she said. He picked up the glass in shaking hands and sipped the water.

“How much should I drink?” he asked, not wanting to do this wrong and be in trouble again.

“However much you want,” said Sara, clearly puzzled by the question. He was equally puzzled by her obvious confusion, before he remembered that she wasn’t one of his jailers.

“I’m sorry, everything is blurring into confusion,” said Rip. “My mind’s clearer but pain is a surprisingly efficient conditioning tool and I’m used to being told what to do after so many months of… well…” He shrugged, not wanting to go into details. He took a few small sips and put the glass of water carefully back on the nightstand.

“Gideon told us what they did to you,” said Sara. “We know that it’s going to be hard to shake off.”

“But alas we don’t have the time for me to do that,” said Rip. “We need to stop Thawne.”

“He destroyed the Spear, Rip. There’s only one way that we can stop him now,” replied Sara.

Rip flinched at the sound of his name, and then had to take a moment to breathe deeply and assure himself that no one was going to take him for electroshock therapy because someone had used the name in his delusion. Except maybe this was a delusion. He’d dreamed about this moment so many times, the Legends coming to take him away from the Asylum. It had kept him going early on, the idea that someone out there would come to rescue him, until he’d realised that the only reality was the one he was in. Perhaps this was all a giant delusion that he’d made up to comfort himself.

“What’s the matter?” asked Sara.

“You’re a delusion,” murmured Rip. He screwed his eyes shut, pulled his knees up to his chest, and tried to make her go away. “I know you’re not real. Please, I know they’re not real. Just no more treatments, please, and I promise I’ll try harder to get better.”

“Rip,” said Sara. “No one’s going to hurt you or send you for treatment. It’s okay. You’re not in Arkham anymore. You’re not sick.”

“Don’t call me that,” he said. “It’s not my name.”

“It’s the only name I’ve ever known you by,” said Sara. “You’re Rip Hunter, former Time Master and Captain of the Waverider. You’re also my friend.”

His eyes flew open and Sara was still there, sat in front of him with a plate of toast, waiting for him to come back to his senses.

“I’m sorry,” he said, distraught at the idea that he’d thought her an illusion of his mind. “I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologise. Nothing that happened to you is your fault,” said Sara, and handed him the plate of toast. He tentatively accepted it and looked down at the slices of toasted white bread. It was plain, unbuttered, as if she’d realised that his stomach wouldn’t handle much else at the moment. It was a simple act of kindness to a friend, and it nearly undid him. Tears welled in his eyes, as he took a small bite from one of the slices, and he blinked them away, embarrassed by his own emotions.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, not daring to look at her. “Thank you for getting me out of there. I couldn’t have survived it much longer, I was already believing their lies. Thawne would come to taunt me every so often and see how I was progressing. Everyone thought it was so good of him to take a special interest in my case, but really he was just there to tell me that everyone that I cared about had forgotten me.”

Sara shuffled closer, more slowly this time, obviously trying not to alarm him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. He leaned in towards her, enjoying the contact with another human being. He rested his head on her shoulder. For the last year, apart from Gideon, he’d been touched only for his supposed treatment or to hurt and humiliate him. It felt amazing to feel loved again.

“Are you saying that they would have killed you?” she asked, more gently than the question deserved.

Rip shook his head. “I doubt they would have ended my life physically, that wasn’t the point of the exercise, but I wouldn’t have been me anymore. They would have taken you all from me, and I wouldn’t have even known what I’d lost.”

“Oh, Rip,” said Sara, sadly. “Well we _did_ get you out of there, and we’re all here now.”

“Where’s Gideon?” he asked.

“Sleeping on the couch,” said Sara. “She spent the night pulling you out of bad dreams, so she needed the rest.”

Rip was glad to hear that she was resting. “If it wasn’t for her then I think I’d have given up all hope. I know Thawne put her there to help blur the lines of reality for me. I mean, how could my ship be human? But really it was a mercy, even without her memories, she was still Gideon.”

“It was a shock for us seeing her as a human,” said Sara, rubbing her hand up and down Rip’s arm. “Speaking of Gideon, I don’t suppose you know where the Waverider is?”

“Erm, well I have a rough idea,” said Rip. “I know that Thawne shrank it down, probably using Ray’s Atom suit.”

“He shrank it down? How do you know that?”

“Because he brought it with him once when he came for his monthly visit,” said Rip. “I think he was hoping I’d tell someone that he’d shrunk my time ship, because that would definitely not have been believed by my doctors. I wasn’t quite so out of it as to fall into that trap though. I’d assume that he’s got it somewhere at STAR Labs, prominently displayed as a trophy. But I’m sure Jax, Ray, Gideon and I can come up with a makeshift tracking device for it.”

“Okay, that’s the first good news we’ve had in a while,” said Sara. “We’ll start once Gideon’s awake. And you need to try to eat some more. It’ll help you feel better.”

Rip sighed. He didn’t want to lean away from Sara, but he couldn’t very well eat with his head on her shoulder. He shifted over a little and picked up the toast again, nibbling at another corner.

“If you manage that, then you can have some yoghurt for dessert,” said Sara.

“I think that excitement might have to wait a bit,” said Rip, dryly. It would be a miracle if he made it through the toast.

Jax came over. “Hey there, how’s it going?”

“Well, I’m doing slightly better at discerning what is reality,” said Rip. “But I confess to things still being somewhat confusing at times.”

“Yeah, it might help if things weren’t so unbelievable in this part of reality,” said Jax. “The Spear messed with everything.”

“Rip thinks you, Ray and Gideon might be able to make a tracker to find the Waverider,” said Sara.

Jax nodded. “We can try, for sure,” he said. “With you and Gideon helping, we should manage it.”

Rip nodded, “well, at least we can get started while we’re waiting for Gideon.” He put the toast down, pushed the blankets away, and moved to put his feet over the edge of the bed. The room tilted and his head swam, he put out a hand to steady himself and felt Sara grabbing him to keep him upright.

“Woah, not so fast,” said Sara. “You’ve just spent most of a day throwing up, after months of being drugged out of your skull. You’re nowhere near up to standing around rigging up tracking devices. You’re purely in an advisory capacity on this.”

“Sara, I’ll be fine. I just need to move a bit more slowly,” said Rip.

“No, you’ll stay in this bed until Gideon gives you the okay to get up,” said Sara. “Besides, you’re not exactly dressed for being up and about.”

Rip sighed. The white scrubs that all the patients in Arkham were forced to wear weren’t exactly practical for everyday wear.

“Hey, Nate,” shouted Jax. “Do you think you’ve got any clothes that would fit Rip?”

Nate stood up from where he’d been studying a book at his desk in the corner. “Er, no idea. He’s kind of skinny. Maybe Mom kept something from when I was a teenager.”

“You try surviving on asylum food for a year,” said Rip, slightly grumpily. He took another bite of toast, as Sara rolled her eyes at Nate’s lack of tact. Rip knew that he’d lost weight and he hadn’t had that much to lose in the first place. He suspected he looked pretty bad now, with all the bruises, his hair shaved off and the enforced diet he’d been on.

Nate disappeared up the stairs, and Rip concentrated on trying to eat the whole piece of toast, which he managed with a bit of effort and some pauses to sip water for a moment. It took some time to slowly chew his way through it all. Nate came back down the stairs with a variety of items of clothing. He dumped them on the end of the bed.

“I hope you’re happy, I just lied to my Mom to cover up why I needed clothes for the escaped mental patient that slept in my bed last night. She knows about the broken table, she wasn’t amused, and she threatened to take it out of my allowance. She thinks my new friends are a bad influence.”

“Dude, you totally had it made here,” said Jax. “What the hell were the Legion thinking when they decided to torture you with this?”

“Oh, you know, I’m a haemophiliac again, no powers anymore, no one believes a word I say, and I’m stuck living in my Mom’s basement with no independence whatsoever,” said Nate. “Plus, they just killed my girlfriend!”

Nate kicked out at the sofa, crossly, waking Gideon, who sat up with a start.

“Damn it, sorry Gideon,” he said, when he realised what he’d done. She was already waving off the apology.

“Nate,” said Sara, “it’s okay. We’re all sad about Amaya.”

“They killed Amaya?” asked Rip, quietly.

Sara’s attention turned back to Rip. “Yes, sorry, I forgot you were asleep when we got back.”

“I am truly sorry, Dr Heywood,” said Rip. “I didn’t realise that the two of you were so close.”

“Neither did I,” said Sara. “But we’ll get her back, because we’re going to fix reality.”

Nate gave a rather sad nod and retreated back to his corner. Rip reflected that they were all a rather sad bunch of individuals, each nursing their own wounds and hoping that they could still fix the entire mess.

Gideon got up and stretched. “Oh good, you’re eating,” she said, looking over at Rip.

Rip nodded, tiredly. “I thought perhaps you, Ray and Jax might be able to put together a tracking device for the Waverider. Apparently, I’m only allowed to assist in a purely advisory capacity.”

Gideon smiled at him. “Well, if Captain Lance is in agreement, then we could perhaps get you dressed and move you to the couch so that you could assist from a closer position to the work area.”

Sara gave him a quick nod in acknowledgement. “Sure, if you think he’s up to it.”

“It’s better to get him moving at this stage,” said Gideon. She walked to the end of the bed and examined the pile of clothes there, picking out a white shirt and a pair of dark blue jeans. She handed them to Rip, who raised his eyebrows. He hadn’t failed to notice that she’d picked out the items that were closest to what he usually wore. They did look as if they would probably fit him too.

“I’m sorry, but we don’t appear to have a jacket,” said Gideon. “Perhaps a hoody will do as a temporary defence against the cold.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine, Gideon,” said Rip, as she handed him that too. “I hesitate to ask, but I don’t suppose there is such a thing as underwear in that pile. I’ve never been a fan of going commando.”

“It’s at the bottom of the pile,” sad Nate. “Mom thought of everything, including socks.”

“Please thank your mother for me,” said Rip. He looked up at Gideon. “Would someone mind helping me to the bathroom so that I can get clean and change?”

“Of course,” said Gideon, already offering him a hand up.

He felt better once he’d washed and changed. Gideon had provided him with some help when it came to both parts of that equation, but had managed to allow him enough privacy that he didn’t feel too humiliated by the entire exercise. He even walked to the couch on his own, although Gideon was hovering nearby just in case he wobbled.

“Right, let’s get to work,” he said. “We should be able to track the Waverider’s carrier signal, assuming she isn’t completely powered down. If she is, then we may have to rethink.”

Gideon gave him a smile, Jax gave him a pat on the shoulder and Ray offered him a high five.

“We haven’t bloody well done anything yet,” said Rip.

“Not yet,” said Ray, “but you’re up and dressed. We think that’s pretty good for an escaped mental patient who didn’t think we were real yesterday.”

“Very funny,” said Rip, “now if we could get back to work.”

***

They built the tracker, which led them to the Waverider on Thawne’s desk at STARLabs. Knowing the general area had helped them to narrow down their search greatly and meant the tracker could be less powerful. Then they located Ray’s suit with only minimal interference from Damien Darhk in their escape, boarded the Waverider and headed for the temporal zone.

Rip was feeling more and more like himself as the walls of his world were shored up with further truths. His quarters felt familiar and he found his pocket watch there with the picture of Miranda and Jonas inside it. He found himself unafraid of their memory and was thankful for that. He was also very pleased that he wouldn’t have to think of himself as their murderer any longer. He remembered the truth again now.

He still felt weak, but he could deal with that. He supposed that being drugged for so long was the cause, and occasionally he did still wonder if he was living in his delusion. Quite honestly, he preferred the delusion though, and he’d happily live in it if he got to be with his team again. Given that following Sara’s plan would turn them all into aberrations, he doubted that it mattered anymore. They were the sacrifice that the Spear would demand to put everything back to how it had been before.

He was strangely okay with that.

***

“If we’re going to be impersonating ourselves then I’ll need a haircut,” said Nate.

“And I’ll need a hat,” said Rip.

“And to put on a few pounds,” said Jax.

“I think the uniform will cover it up,” said Rip, “besides, people see what they’re expecting to see. I doubt anyone will notice that I’m thinner than I was.”

Sara sighed. “Fine, but don’t hang around. In and out, as quickly as you can manage. Gideon, you’re with me and Jax.”

“Yes, Captain Lance,” said Gideon. “If I might have a word with Captain Hunter before we go?”

“Of course, but make it quick, we don’t have much time,” said Sara.

Gideon nodded, and waited until everyone else had left the bridge. She helped Rip to his feet and he didn’t protest, she knew that he was still tired and not back to full strength.

“If the next words out of your mouth are an apology, then I will not be pleased,” said Rip.

Gideon had indeed intended to apologise, but stopped herself now. “We have not really talked about what happened in Arkham. I feel an apology is owed.”

“You weren’t yourself,” said Rip. “Neither of us were by the time they’d drugged me out of my mind and made me believe all the lies they were feeding me. You weren’t cruel like the other nurses, you were still in there, my Gideon, caring for me. I looked forwards to seeing you, even though I knew you didn’t remember me.”

“But I allowed them to hurt you, the electroshock treatment alone…” began Gideon.

Rip held up a hand. “Not you, and yes, it was horrific and it hurt and I despaired some days of ever getting out of there, but it is over, and I will always be thankful to Eobard for giving me this moment with you.”

He took her hand and then he leaned forwards and kissed her on her lips, pulling her into an embrace as the kiss deepened. There were stood in almost exactly the same location that they had been in his mindscape when he had kissed her, except this time the kiss was real and so much better because of it. His lips were warm and soft on hers and she felt herself fall for him all over again in that moment. They reluctantly broke away from each other to breathe, holding their embrace for a little while longer.

“Although it is just as well that the psychologists never saw this,” he said, smiling at her. “What would they say about a Captain who was in love with his ship?”

Gideon returned the smile. “Perhaps nothing if they knew that the ship also loved her Captain.”


	2. Mick and the Assistant or The Devil Wears Yellow Leather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The agreement that Mick made was that none of the Legends would be killed, but Thawne never specified that he couldn't hurt them or work them to death. He also hadn't mentioned how much he really hated Rip.
> 
> Warnings: torture, medical torture, abuse, starvation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for their Kudos and reviews for the last chapter. This chapter is Rip and his interactions with Mick, and fixes a couple of points that I didn't like about Doomworld - mainly the problem that after everything, the Legends still haven't learnt their lesson about the fragile ego and hurt feelings of Mr Rory.

* * *

 

Mick literally bumped into Rip Hunter in the corridor of STAR Labs whilst on the way to see Eobard Thawne with Snart. The Englishman had come around a corner too quickly and had been carrying a large pile of box files that meant he couldn’t properly see where he was going. Due to his lighter build and greater speed, bumping into Mick was rather like thumping into a brick wall and Rip went sprawling with his files.

Mick frowned and growled, “watch where you’re going” before he’d even taken note of who it was. The first thing he noticed was that Rip was wearing glasses, of the wire rimmed variety that his grandmother had worn, a rather cheap looking shirt, and a tie that was half undone. There was something black underneath the shirt collar, around Rip’s neck, but Mick wasn’t able to get a look at it properly before Rip was moving again.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, really sorry, sir,” said Rip, urgently, as he picked up the papers hurriedly. “Please don’t tell Mr Thawne that I knocked into you.” He gave Mick a slightly pleading look.

Mick couldn’t help but smirk a little, before letting the Englishman down gently. “Nah, you’re okay. No harm done.”

“Oh, thank you,” said Rip with undisguised relief.

“Who are you?” asked Mick, somewhat intrigued as to what the answer would be. Thawne had been quite vague about his plans for Rip. The only proviso that Mick had placed on the entire thing was than none of the Legends were killed, so the Legion had kept them around as altered versions of themselves where they couldn’t do any harm. In return Mick and Len had to do a few jobs here and there for Thawne, but he’d been okay with that.

“Erm, Rip Hunter, I’m Mr Thawne’s assistant,” said Rip, pushing his glasses back onto his nose. Then he checked his wristwatch. “Oh no, I’m going to be late.” Rip bundled the papers back into the files, stacked them rapidly and quickly dashed off down the corridor.

To be honest, he thought Rip had got off pretty lightly. He’d expected Thawne to find something much worse for him to do. Of course, he hadn’t really paid attention to the creatively vindictive streak that Thawne had.

Darhk and Thawne had divided up the Legends and their punishments between them, Darhk taking Sara, Amaya and Nate as his, and Thawne deciding upon Jax, Martin, Ray and Rip as his to have fun with. Merlyn had wanted nothing to do with the plan and maintained that they should all have been killed or wiped from existence, despite Mick’s protests. Mick didn’t like Malcolm Merlyn one bit. Darhk had wanted to make use of Amaya and Sara’s talents which seemed entirely reasonable, but hadn’t seen the point in letting Nate be anything but a nutty conspiracy theorist without his powers. Mick thought that Sara and Amaya actually seemed pretty happy with their new, inhibitions free, killing spree job. He didn’t know about Nate, but how bad could living in your Mom’s basement be?

Thawne had needed Martin at STARLabs and enjoyed the irony of Jax being the one to crack the whip. The speedster had desperately hated Ray after their moon landing encounter and so hid him away in the most menial job that he could find, making sure to rob him of his intellect. Mick hadn’t been totally cool with that, out of all the Legends, he liked Ray the best and he wasn’t so stupid that he didn’t know how much store Ray put in his own intelligence. It was his superpower, after all. Snart persuaded him not to make a fuss about it because Eobard still had the Spear and could wipe them all from existence if he wanted to.

Until he’d seen Rip writhing on the floor in agony, he couldn’t have cared less what Thawne had done with him.

After he’d bumped into Rip, Mick had wandered along the corridors to the Cortex where Snart was waiting for him to talk to Thawne about some job that he had in mind. He’d heard a scream from down the hall and stepped up his pace. He’d entered the room to find Thawne leaning nonchalantly against his desk, with a small black plastic device in his hand that had a button on it that he was pressing with amusement. Snart was on his feet and had that look on his face that he got when he didn’t really like something, but hadn’t decided what to do about it yet. Snart wasn’t a fan of violence for violence’s sake.

Rip was on the floor, curled on his side, screaming, his hands grasping at the device around his neck which Mick surmised was the source of his pain. He looked to be in excruciating agony, and even Mick had his limits about what he’d let Thawne do.

“Enough!” he snarled, grabbing the device from Thawne’s fingers before the speedster could react. “He’s had enough.”

Thawne turned on Mick with undisguised anger.

“I’ll say when he’s had enough,” said Thawne, “or perhaps you’ve forgotten your place here, Mr Rory.”

Rip was gasping for air and trying desperately to get up onto his hands and knees. He was setting his glasses so that they were square on his face again, and trying once more to pick up the papers which had been scattered to the floor. It was so goddamned pathetic that Mick didn’t even want to watch. He didn’t really see how Thawne found this amusing. The guy was a real psychopath.

“You’re torturing him!” said Mick, menacingly, grabbing at Thawne’s shirt. “That wasn’t the deal.”

“Mr Hunter is mine to do with as I please,” replied Thawne.

“It was my fault,” said Rip, shakily, “I’m sorry, Mr Thawne, I’ll have those figures on your desk within the hour, I promise. I should have understood that you’d want them now.”

“Mick!” said Snart, sharply. “Put the nice man down. It’s up to him how he runs his Lab.”

Mick did let go of Thawne, but it was reluctantly. Thawne adjusted his expensive, gold, silk tie and straightened his shirt.

“Get out of here,” said Thawne, to his assistant. “I want those figures in half an hour.”

“Yes, Mr Thawne,” said Rip, grabbing the final papers, and getting to his feet unsteadily. He stumbled from the room.

Thawne reclaimed the box from Mick’s hand, as Mick attempted to stare him down with angry eyes.

“If you ever do that in front of one of my employees again,” said Thawne, “then you’ll need more than a few words from Mr Snart to defuse the situation.”

“He’s not just an employee,” said Mick. “He was on my team. The deal was that they lost their memories of the other reality and you didn’t hurt them.”

“The deal was that we wouldn’t kill them,” said Thawne. “No one said anything about a little creative torture. Don’t you think it’s delicious that I have Rip Hunter, a former Time Master, at my beck and call? After the run around that he gave us with hiding those pieces of the Spear across time and space, I think it’s only fair that he should have to run around after me.”

“No,” said Mick. “You’re a dick. He’s working for you as a secretary. You took his ship from him and everything else. You don’t need to torture him as well.”

“But he does get a tad rebellious at times,” said Thawne, a dangerous sparkle in his eyes. “I have to keep him in line.”

“Not like that,” said Mick.

Mick felt Snart’s hand on his arm. “Come on, Mick, we’ve got a little job to do for Eobard. Let’s not waste time on this.”

Mick growled at Thawne, but backed up a step. Snart was probably right. He’d made his choice to join his partner and leave the team for a good reason. He shouldn’t really care what Thawne was doing with or to Rip, it wasn’t like the Englishman had been particularly kind to him or anything. He knew that the crew had all considered him to be stupid and brutish, barely more than an animal. They’d used Mick for his muscle and not much else. They certainly hadn’t been his friends and he definitely shouldn’t care what happened to any of them.

Snart slapped him on the arm this time, an indication that they should go. Mick gave Eobard one last look and followed his partner out of the room.

“What was all that about?” asked Snart, as they walked back out of the Labs.

“You saw,” said Mick.

“You didn’t even like Hunter,” drawled Snart. “Why the sudden concern?”

“He was a member of my team. It doesn’t feel right,” said Mick. He wasn’t good at expressing himself, especially when it came to his emotional side, but Snart was a smart guy and usually got his meaning.

“Feelings will get you into trouble every time, Mick. Forget about it. Let Thawne have his fun. It’s not our problem,” said Snart.

“You didn’t like it any more than I did,” said Mick. He’d seen the look on Snart’s face.

“No, but I know when to keep my mouth shut and let the psychopath have his fun,” said Snart.

“Yeah, but only one of them was having fun,” replied Mick, angrily.

“You’d better not be going soft on me,” said Snart. “We’ve landed on our feet here and all we need to do is stay on Thawne’s good side.”

“His good side doesn’t feel like a very safe place to be,” replied Mick.

“Thawne’s got no reason to do anything to us,” said Snart. “Unless we give him a reason, and neither of us are stupid enough to do that, are we?”

Mick gave Snart a look, but answered his semi-rhetorical question. “No.”

“Good, then let’s get back to stealing stuff and having fun,” said Snart.

Mick couldn’t help but continue to feel uneasy though. Thawne held all the cards here, and Snart usually knew what he was doing, but even his partner couldn’t stop a speedster with the Spear of Destiny in his hands.

***

Rip was well aware that he’d probably have to pay some kind of penance for the incident in Thawne’s office. If he’d simply been allowed to take his punishment, he would have been in agony for a few minutes and then Thawne would have allowed him to crawl back to work. Instead, Mr Thawne’s guest had interrupted and now Rip would have to make it up to his boss somehow.

At least he’d managed to make it all the way back to his office before his legs gave way. The pain from the collar was intense and it tended to linger for several hours afterwards. On one occasion when he’d committed a particularly heinous filing error, Mr Thawne had left it on for longer than usual and Rip had actually passed out. He’d awoken to Mr Thawne kicking him in the side to wake him up again.

He deserved it, of course. He was a useless assistant and he had no idea why Mr Thawne kept him around. He was stupid and slow, clumsy and incompetent. Mr Thawne should just hand him over to the firing squad as he kept suggesting. It was where Rip had come from. He had been scheduled to be executed for crimes against Mr Thawne, and instead had found himself plucked out of a cell and working for him instead. A head injury had apparently wiped all his past memories, so he had no idea what his crimes had been, but if they’d been bad enough to merit execution then he was sure they must have been horrible.

His windowless office was little bigger than a cell, tucked away next to a broom closet, it was also where he slept and ate. He had a metal chest where he kept his meagre belongings, a metal bedframe with a thin mattress, blankets and a pillow, the desk, a lamp, a filing cabinet and a wooden chair. Otherwise the room was bare, with no pictures or other decoration to lighten his existence.

He was on call to Mr Thawne twenty-four hours a day and seven days a week, so he always slept with his phone, in case Mr Thawne needed him. If he wasn’t swift enough to respond then he could be sure that punishment would follow. He was often tired from being awoken to deal with Mr Thawne’s needs in the night and he was always up at 5am to make sure Mr Thawne had everything he needed at the start of the day.

Rationally, he knew that his existence was pretty miserable, but he’d never known anything else and Rip could deal with pain and long hours. Something in him suggested that he’d done this before, perhaps before the head injury and resulting memory loss.

His phone beeped at him. Mr Thawne was requesting coffee and he wanted the figures he’d requested earlier in the next fifteen minutes. Rip sighed, he could barely move after his earlier punishment. The pain collar had made his muscles ache and they hadn’t even had a chance to recover yet. The kitchen was the floor above his office and it would take him ten minutes to go up there and get the particular brand of coffee that Mr Thawne liked, but he’d have to get the figures sorted out first so that he could take both together to the Cortex. This had all the marks of something that Mr Thawne had set up for him to fail before he’d even begun. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time.

Luckily, the figures for Mr Thawne he needed were easily retrieved. He downloaded them onto a tablet, hoping that his boss wouldn’t care that he hadn’t printed them out, picked his aching body out of the chair he’d fallen into earlier and moved as quickly as he could towards the kitchen. If he ran then he’d just make it. Of course, his body would complain, but aches were better than another go with the pain collar. He persuaded his legs to jog, feeling every step as he took the stairs two at a time. It was faster than the lift.

He reached the kitchen and found Lila, one of the kitchen staff, in the midst of lunch preparation. “Coffee for Mr Thawne, please,” he asked.

Lila gave him a smile, and went to the coffee machine. “Of course, I’ll get it for you, Rip.”

She was one of the nicer kitchen staff. She always dropped whatever she was doing to get whatever Rip needed for Mr Thawne, which given that he was often in a hurry was much appreciated. She handed him the coffee in a lidded cup, and gave him one of Mr Thawne’s special china cups that were kept only for him. He’d pour the coffee into it when he’d reached his destination and that way he wouldn’t spill any on the way. His chances of making this were getting slightly better.

He dashed down the hallway, back down the stairs, down the corridor and stopped just outside the cortex. He transferred the coffee, nearly burning his hand as the hot liquid splashed out of the cup. He dumped the paper cup in the bin and walked carefully into the cortex.

“Mr Thawne, your coffee,” said Rip, placing the cup down on the desk. He was trying to get his breathing under control after the exertion of his run. “And I have the latest efficiency statistics here.”

Thawne had been working on something over at the lab bench and he stood, turning towards Rip as he did so. “You’re a minute late, Mr Hunter.”

Rip checked his watch and saw that he had indeed missed his boss’s deadline by a minute. He hung his head.

“I’m sorry, Mr Thawne,” he said. He tensed ready for the pain, but it didn’t come. He felt a rush of air and suddenly the speedster was inches from his face.

“I don’t think you’re getting enough exercise, Mr Hunter,” said Thawne. “Look at you, panting after just a trip to the kitchen and back.”

Rip didn’t dare look up. He had a nasty feeling that he knew what was coming next.

“Dr Snow!” shouted Thawne and a woman with brown curly hair appeared from one of the nearby labs. “Mr Hunter will be your test subject for this afternoon. He could use some time on the treadmill.”

Dr Snow just nodded, looking almost as unhappy as Rip. She was wearing a collar exactly like his. The two of them had no choice in the matter. Thawne would have told her what to do and the results she needed to get. She’d put him through a series of probably tiring and painful tests and he’d let her.

“Well, off you go. Dr Snow is a busy woman,” said Thawne, taking the tablet from Rip’s hands.

“But, Mr Thawne, I do have a lot of paperwork to do,” said Rip, the protest regretted the moment it was said.

“Mr Hunter,” said Thawne, in a mocking, shocked tone, “I know that I didn’t just hear you question a directive that I gave.” The threat behind his words was clear. There were worse things than spending an afternoon running on a treadmill and Rip knew it.

“No, Mr Thawne, I’ll assist Dr Snow as ordered, sir,” said Rip, dismally.

“And I’ll want those papers on my desk tomorrow,” said Thawne. “You’ve got time to work on them this evening, once Dr Snow has finished with you, of course.”

Rip doubted he’d be up to working later, but he nodded, if Mr Thawne wanted something then he would have to do it. The problem was that if he was tired and sore then he’d be more inclined to make mistakes, and so he’d have to double check everything and it would take twice as long. He traipsed out of the room behind Dr Snow and he was sure that he could hear Thawne laughing as he left.

Dr Snow was doing a metabolism study. She had him running on the treadmill for three hours, at first doing baseline tests and then boosted by a new drug she was working on. Then he spent an hour unconscious as an unintended side effect of the drug had him fainting from over exertion. Dr Snow hooked him up to an IV and he came around later, lying on one of the Infirmary beds. She took pity on him and dosed him up with analgesics so that he could at least walk back to his room. She also gave him a packet of over the counter painkillers so that he’d be able to function the following day and sleep. She wasn’t supposed to do that and potentially it could get both of them into trouble if they were found. He was incredibly glad of the precious items. He was often in pain and they would help him to get through the day. He was already planning on how he’d have to ration them out to make them last as long as possible, unsure when of if he’d be able to get more.

He spent his evening working on Mr Thawne’s paperwork so that he could put it on his desk before morning, and barely got to sleep before midnight. He ate a solitary dinner at his desk, the first meal he’d actually managed to get during the day. He could hardly keep his eyes open, but at least he’d avoided further punishment, and he could probably survive the day on five hours sleep, assuming that Thawne didn’t try more games. The pain in his muscles meant that he slept badly anyway.

He was sat in his office the following day when a man came to the door. His office’s door was always open during the day so that he could hear people approaching. Today he’d completely missed his arrival, which was testament to how tired he was. He looked up from the detailed plan of the following week’s appointments that he was preparing for Mr Thawne and saw the man he’d run into the previous day. He didn’t get a lot of visitors so this was unusual. Most of the employees at STARLabs knew to stay away from him because they’d get into trouble if they distracted him or helped him. Mr Thawne was very strict on that. Rip had to do his own work with no assistance from others.

“Uh, Mr Rory, isn’t it?” he asked, slightly puzzled by why he was standing in his doorway.

The man nodded.

“Is there something that I can help you with, Mr Rory? It’s just that Mr Thawne wants this schedule completed within the hour…”

“Thawne always treat you like that?” The question was gruff and abrupt.

Rip suddenly felt embarrassed. Mick had witnessed him being punished yesterday and it wasn’t a position that he wanted himself to be seen in. He looked down at the schedule that he was working on. “I really do have a considerable amount of work to do, Mr Rory.”

“Answer the question, English,” said Mick.

“I’m only punished when I do something wrong,” said Rip, looking up briefly.

“And I bet that’s all the time,” replied his visitor.

“I’m not always the best assistant,” said Rip, dismally. “Mr Thawne has very high standards.”

“Impossible standards, you mean,” said Mick.

“He expects perfection and forgets that we’re not all as fast as he is,” replied Rip, tactfully. Anything he said could get back to his boss and he shuddered to think what Mr Thawne would do if he’d heard Rip had badmouthed him.

A cereal bar was dropped on the desk, followed by a bar of milk chocolate. Rip looked up at Mick with his eyes wide in surprise. He actually didn’t remember the last time he’d had chocolate.

“You’re too skinny,” said Mick. “You need to eat more.”

He turned and left before Rip could say anything more, and he didn’t take the chocolate or cereal bar with him. It looked like he’d deliberately left them for Rip, and Rip wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He’d skipped breakfast again so that he could get ahead on the day’s work and was utterly starving. The cereal bar was good, but the chocolate was so delicious that he nearly wept with joy.

His phone beeped. Mr Thawne wanted him again. He sighed and gathered up his work to take to the Cortex.

***

Mick took to regularly dropping by the tiny room on the ground floor of STAR Labs where Rip could be found, hard at work on something most days. The fact that the Englishman was clearly always tired and that Thawne was overworking him didn’t fail to escape Mick’s notice. However, he was alive and that was about the best that Mick could hope for. He’d also dropped by Ray’s basement dwelling, worried that maybe Haircut was in an equally dismal situation, but found the former inventor playing computer games and eating pizza between sweeping floors and cleaning toilets. Haircut was doing a lot better than Rip, and even had a few weird projects going on.

“You’d better not be getting sentimental for old times,” said Snart, when he caught him coming out of Rip’s office.

He’d left the Englishman a sandwich on his desk, although Rip hadn’t been there. He now received a smile every time he stood in the doorway and presented Rip with whatever food he’d got for him that day. If he was passing the kitchen, then he’d bring him tea as well sometimes, vaguely remembering that was what Rip drank when he’d been Captain of the Waverider.

“Thawne won’t like you playing with his pet,” Snart pointed out.

“Thawne never has to know,” said Mick. “Rip’s not going to tell him and everyone else is too damn scared to say a word.”

“Of Thawne or you?” asked Snart, with a quirk of his eyebrow.

Mick just gave him an annoyed look. They’d better be scared of him.

“You’re on thin ice, Mick,” said Snart. “We’ve got banks to rob and jewels to steal. Why get hung up over what Thawne chooses to do with one man?”

It wasn’t the first time that Snart had asked the question, and Mick still wasn’t sure of the answer. Mick Rory definitely didn’t care about people, especially not Rip Hunter, who had been nothing but a pain in the ass. A rude, arrogant, pain in the ass, who thought that he was better than Mick. No, he really shouldn’t care, and he was trying hard not to.

They rounded a corner in the corridor and found the subject of their discussions in hand to hand combat with a blond-haired man with a knife. Mick didn’t exactly think about what he did next, but he ran towards the fight, and got between Rip and the man with the knife. He could already see blood on Rip, so suspected that he’d been cut a couple of times. The blond man jumped backwards out of the range of Mick’s fists, just as a party of black-clad guards came running around the corner.

“Albert!” shouted one of the guards.

The man, apparently Albert, was about to run for it but Snart had his cold gun out and one blast was all it took to freeze his feet to the floor.

“Sorry, Mr Snart, Mr Rory,” said the guard. “He got away from us on the way to the cells.”

Snart hefted his gun on his shoulder. “No problem, officer,” said Snart, “always happy to assist Mr Thawne’s men.” He smirked at his handiwork, as the guard disarmed the struggling and shouting man. He was rambling on about how they’d killed his friend, but Thawne’s men had killed a lot of people so that didn’t make this anything unusual. The prisoner was cuffed and dragged away after the ice around his feet had been sufficiently chipped away.

“Thank you, Mr Rory,” said Rip, tiredly. “I’d best go and get cleaned up.” He pressed a hand to his side and it came away with blood on it.

“You get cut?” asked Mick.

“Nicked, nothing more,” said Rip, looking down at his torn shirt. It looked like he had a cut on his left arm and another on his lower right abdomen. Mick couldn’t really see how deep they were but he was prepared to take Rip’s word for it. Rip straightened his glasses and picked up the tablet which Mick assumed he’d dropped when he was attacked.

“Never a dull moment around here,” said Snart.

“Indeed. Thank you both, again,” said Rip, “but I must get back to work. Mr Thawne will be needing his lunch soon.”

Mick watched Rip walk stiffly away, favouring his left side. He frowned and made a mental note to check in on him later. Unfortunately, Snart had other plans, and they didn’t come back to STARLabs until the following day. Mick left Snart discussing details of some corporate espionage with Thawne, grabbed a mug of tea from the kitchen and headed down to Rip’s office. He stepped inside the tiny room, and found Rip, with his head down on the desk, eyes closed.

Mick put the tea down on the desk. Rip didn’t stir, and now that he was closer he could see that he was breathing quickly, his skin was flushed and damp with sweat.

“Moron,” he said. “You’re sick.” He shook Rip’s shoulder. The Englishman felt warm to his touch and Mick began to realise that this might be more than just a cold.

Glassy eyes opened and looked up at Mick. There was a look of alarm on his face. “Oh no, did I fall asleep?”

“You’re ill,” Mick repeated. “Why are you working?”

Rip gave a mirthless laugh. “I don’t get sick days, Mr Rory. I need to get these numbers to accounting, and then sort out the seating plan for next week’s reception dinner.” He picked up the two tablets on the desk and went to stand, but instead his legs refused to hold his weight and Mick ended up stopping him from falling.

Rip looked up at Mick. “Maybe I should just sit here a moment.”

“Maybe I should take you to the hospital,” growled Mick, setting Rip down in his chair again.

“I can’t leave the building,” said Rip. “It’ll set off the collar. I just need a moment to rest and then I’ll be fine.”

“Show me where you got cut yesterday,” said Mick.

Rip frowned. “What?”

“Where did you get cut yesterday?” asked Mick, again, somewhat impatient now.

Rip slowly moved and rolled up his shirt to show the cut that was low down on the right side of his abdomen. Mick didn’t need to be a doctor to know an infection when he saw one. The ragged slash was weeping pink fluid and the skin around it was a dark, angry red.

“You’re a moron. Did you even clean it?” Mick asked, angrily. You didn’t run in a criminal gang for years without some basic first aid knowledge, and even he knew better than to leave a knife wound without tending to it. Most of the time he couldn’t have gone to a hospital even if he’d wanted to, because he’d have been arrested on sight.

“Mr Thawne called and I had to run,” said Rip. “I cleaned it a bit.”

Mick rolled his eyes. Rip was an idiot in any reality apparently. “This needs seeing to, or Thawne won’t have a lackey to order around anymore.”

“I expect the Infirmary could do it,” said Rip, somewhat warily. The Infirmary tended to be for test subjects and not treating the sick, although some of the test subjects definitely weren’t well after being subjected to whatever Dr Snow was working on that day.

Mick nodded. “Come on, I’ll take you and clear it with Thawne.”

Rip nodded miserably. He pushed himself to his feet, stood for about half a second before his eyes rolled backwards and Mick had to catch him to stop him from hitting the ground.

“Moron,” growled Mick, as he scooped up the unconscious man, threw him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry and stalked off down the corridor towards the Infirmary. He dropped Rip on the closest bed to the entrance and grabbed the nearest white coated medical-looking person.

“Fix him,” he said, menacingly. “He’s Thawne’s personal assistant and if he dies then the boss won’t be happy.”

“Er, yes sir,” said the man who’d had the misfortune to be within Mick’s direct eyeline when he’d come in.

“He got cut yesterday. It’s infected. Right side of his stomach. I’m going to talk to Thawne, and let him know what happened. Then I’ll be back to make sure you’re treating him right,” said Mick, his eyes boring holes into the man’s head. He knew he could be intimidating, and, at times like this, it was very useful.

Unfortunately, Mick suspected that the next part of the equation, dealing with Thawne, was going to be more difficult. If there was one thing that Mick had learned over his years of dealing with the Flash, it was that speedsters were tricky. You couldn’t intimidate them with mere muscle, dealing with speedsters took brains as well as brawn, which wasn’t Mick’s forte. Plus Len wasn’t exactly being his usual helpful self at the moment when it came to that area, and Mick was beginning to realise that he’d changed more than he’d thought after he joined up with the Legends. He wasn’t the Heatwave that had run with this Captain Cold, he was someone else now.

He stamped down the hallways of STAR Labs and into the Cortex, where Snart was lazing against a desk and listening to Thawne drone on about something.

“Your lackey is taking a sick day,” said Mick, not really caring what he was interrupting. “I just dumped him in the Infirmary.”

“My lackey?” asked Thawne.

“Hunter,” specified Mick. “Your guards were careless yesterday, let a prisoner get loose and the guy cut him with a knife. Turns out he was too busy running around after you to get it treated and it got infected. He passed out in his office.”

Thawne paused for a moment, and then burst into guffaws of laughter. He appeared to find this very amusing. Mick was just baffled since it wasn’t the reaction that he’d expected at all.

When Thawne had calmed down and collected himself, he spoke. “Are you telling me that Rip Hunter is currently being treated in the Infirmary for a stab wound? That is too perfect. I’ll have to tell them not to give him the good painkillers.”

“You’ll leave him be while he’s sick,” growled Mick, his eyes flashing with barely controlled anger, “or I’ll burn this place to the ground.”

“Now, Mick…” began Snart.

But Thawne was grinning again. “Why, Mr Rory, I had no idea you cared.”

“I don’t,” snarled Mick. “But even thieves have a code.”

“He’s right,” said Snart, finally chipping in to support his partner. “You don’t hit a man when he’s already down. It sounds like Rip’s quite capable of organising his own torture at the moment. Wound infections are _nasty_.”

Thawne still had an annoying smile on his face. “You make a good point. Very well, I’ll leave him alone until the Infirmary release him, but this will mean another favour, Mr Rory.”

Mick shrugged. “We _like_ robbing and burning stuff, or hadn’t you worked that out yet?”

“Well, he likes burning stuff. I prefer freezing it, but we agree on the robbing,” added Snart.

“How do you feel about helping Miss Lance and Miss Jiwe to take down the Green Arrow? He’s something of a shadow of his former prowess, but Damien needs to have his fun too…” Thawne smirked again, watching the cogs turning in Mick’s brain as he had to decide between his former team mate and the hero of Star City.

“Sounds like it’ll be a ball,” said Snart, and for once Mick decided that he was happy to go along with it. He’d only met Oliver once and hadn’t really liked him. It’s not like Sara would even remember who he was. Snart would probably call this damage control.

“Fine with me,” said Mick, in confirmation, knowing that Thawne was also testing him. His loyalty would always be in question, he’d already worked that out.

Thawne gave them a few more details and then dismissed them. Mick knew that he was in for another lecture from his partner, and Snart didn’t disappoint. He did at least wait until they were well out of Thawne’s earshot.

“What the hell was that?” he asked, crossly.

“You heard. English made himself sick. Thawne wanted to rub salt in the wound,” said Mick.

“Mick, Mick, Mick,” said Snart, as if telling off a child. “If you keep on trying to save the Legends from whatever Thawne has in store for them, I don’t know if I’ll be able to protect you.”

“I don’t need your protection, and I agreed to take down the Arrow, didn’t I?”

Snart fingered the cold gun at his hip as he often did when he was about to tell Mick something he didn’t think his partner would like.

“I told you that we’re on thin ice. Thawne is the most powerful man on Earth at this moment, and you’re complaining about how he’s treating a guy that thought you were dumb. You need to get your priorities straight. We’ve got to look out for ourselves here or this paradise is going to be very short lived,” said Snart.

“Paradise? Thawne’s still calling the shots,” said Mick.

“Not for much longer,” said Snart, striding away down the corridor.

Mick knew better than to ask exactly what Snart meant by that. He didn’t have the time to contemplate it either, he needed to stop into the Infirmary and check that they really were helping Rip. He wouldn’t have put it past Thawne to have ordered some new torture for Rip and just assumed that Mick wouldn’t check.

He needn’t have worried. Dr Snow was overseeing Rip’s care, and seemed to be doing a decent job, as far as Mick could tell. The Englishman was asleep in a bed, covered in blankets, but still shivering from the fever that he’d managed to come down with. He looked ill, with flushed, sweaty skin and dark shadows around his eyes. They’d hooked him up to an IV of antibiotics to treat the infection and fluids to deal with his dehydration. He was also being given regular shots of analgesia to combat the considerable pain that he was in.

Dr Snow had been disappointed, but not shocked, to find out that Mr Thawne’s assistant suffered from generally poor health, including malnutrition and exhaustion. She’d added vitamin injections to his care instructions in the hopes that it would help boost his immune system. She predicted that his recovery would be slow and pointed out that, if he’d been well to begin with, then perhaps the infection would never have taken hold. There was still a significant chance that he wasn’t strong enough to even fight it off.

None of this made Mick feel good, and he still didn’t understand why. Hunter had made his feelings on Mick very clear in the past, and whilst they’d had a decent working relationship, he never would have said they were friends. Given what was at stake, it made no sense that Mick would be worried about him, and he didn’t like the way that this was making him feel. He did not want to feel weak. He decided that maybe Snart had a point and that once Rip was out of the Infirmary, he’d stop visiting him and start looking out for his own interests more.

Mick wasn’t the type to sit around hospitals waiting for people to get better, anyway. He’d never liked the smell of the places, ever since he’d acquired his first burns. At least this time he had a good excuse not to stay. He and Snart had a job to do. They were needed in Star City to kill a friend.

***

Rip didn’t really remember a lot about his stay in the Infirmary, but he did remember Mr Rory being there. It wasn’t all the time, usually when he woke up he was alone with only the staff who were treating him, who never had much to say. Mostly it was stuff about how they were going to give him an injection or they wanted to take a blood pressure reading, things related to his medical treatment. Not that Mr Rory said much when he was there, but it wasn’t just the mechanics of getting him well again. He’d ask him questions in his gruff tones like “how you doin’, English?” and “got any more dumb ways to die that you want to try?”. Something was vaguely comforting about it.

Rip couldn’t do much more than lie in bed and sleep anyway, but he became more lucid as the days passed until he finally felt able to ask a question of his own.

Today he had made it to sitting up in bed and eating real food that someone had brought to him. It was a novelty for people to do things for him. He felt like he’d been through the ringer, but he was getting his strength back, although the lid of the yoghurt pot was currently defeating him suggesting that he still had a way to go. It wouldn’t be long before he’d be back at work, which was good in some ways and bad in others, quite a lot of others.

“Why are you being nice to me?” he asked his visitor.

“I’m not,” said Mick, but he then undermined that by grabbing the yoghurt and taking the lid off it before plonking it back down on Rip’s tray.

“You’re nicer to me than pretty much everyone else in this place, with maybe the exception of that janitor who goes around with his cap on backwards, but he’s nice to everyone,” said Rip.

“If I told you, you’d never believe me,” replied Mick.

Rip frowned. “Did we know each other? Before I had the head injury and lost my memory?”

Mick looked at him like he’d said something intensely interesting, and then shrugged. “Snart says I should stay away from you after this.”

“Oh,” said Rip, unable to hide his disappointment. He’d known that Mr Rory wouldn’t stay around forever, after all, he was one of Mr Thawne’s closest associates and probably had better things to do than bring him bars of chocolate and cups of tea. That probably wasn’t the only reason though. “I do understand,” he said. “I’m… uh… causing too much trouble for you. You’re not supposed to help me, and you did, and I expect Mr Thawne is somewhat displeased.”

“We came to an agreement. He let the doctors fix you and I did a job for him,” said Mick.

“What kind of job?” asked Rip, wondering if he’d regret the question.

“The kind of job that I’m good at. He asked me and my partner to help him kill somebody,” replied Mick, staring off into the distance.

“I see,” said Rip. He got the impression that Mick deeply regretted whatever he had done. “I’m very sorry. I know I’m not worth the trouble I cause.”

Mick looked at him, something like anger in his eyes, but perhaps not aimed at him.

“Thawne’s a bastard, and I’m not sure I like his world,” said Mick.

“I have to agree, but I’m not exactly an unbiased source,” replied Rip. “I confess to somewhat dreading my return to work.”

“I’ll talk to Thawne and get him to lay off until you’re back to full strength,” said Mick.

“Thank you,” said Rip, and started on his yoghurt. “I’m told I should be able to leave here in a few days’ time. I will definitely miss being allowed to sleep in, but lying in bed does get rather dull.”

Mick got to his feet. He looked like he was going to say something else and then shook his head.

“See you around, English,” said Mick, and strode out of the Infirmary.

Rip rather got the impression that he wouldn’t see him again, and that was pretty much what he’d expected from the start of their slightly strange interactions. Still, it had been nice while it had lasted. At least he’d known that Mick wasn’t going to hurt him or turn him in to Thawne for failing to do something. But all he did was get those who came into contact with him in trouble, so this was for the best really.

***

Two weeks after Rip was back in his tiny office by the broom cupboard, Nate Heywood stumbled into the Cortex, mistaking Eobard Thawne for someone who cared about reality being wrong. And after everything that he’d witnessed with Rip, the idea of killing Nate wasn’t something that Mick could countenance. The problem was that put him at odds with Snart, who was still trying to find a way to get the Spear and control their destiny rather than having Thawne do it for them.

So now Mick was on the run from Snart and the Legion, and stood in the basement of STAR Labs with people whose first instinct had been to punch him as soon as they regained their memories. Ray was pissed off, Nate was angry, and Sara looked like she wanted to murder him.

“The Legion’s probably on their way to kill us,” said Nate.

“Yeah, we’ve got to find some place to hide,” said Ray.

“I need to get Rip,” said Mick.

“You know where he is?” asked Sara.

“Yeah,” said Mick.

“Oh, no, I know where he is too,” said Ray, a look of horror in his eyes.

“Well, that sounds ominous,” said Sara.

“He’s Thawne’s personal assistant,” said Mick, spitting out the words with distaste.

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” said Nate.

Ray shook his head. “Everyone in STAR Labs knows that he’s basically Thawne’s slave. Thawne punishes him for the tiniest infractions or mistakes. He’s not allowed to leave the building and he sleeps in this tiny office on the ground floor so that Thawne can get hold of him any hour of the day or night.”

“I take it back,” said Nate, “that sounds like utter misery.”

“Yeah, okay, Rip first and then I’ll go get Amaya,” said Sara. “So, where to?”

“Upstairs, if he’s not with Thawne being shouted at or tortured then he’ll be in his office working,” said Mick.

“Okay, let’s go,” said Sara. “Lead the way.”

Mick did, with Ray a step behind him and Nate and Sara bringing up the rear. It was late at night and almost no one else was in the building. A light was still on in the tiny office that Mick knew belonged to Rip, however when he went into the room he realised that the occupant was asleep, his head down on his desk. For a second Mick flashed back to the moment that he’d found Rip too ill to work and he hastily shook his shoulder.

“Hunter, wake up,” said Mick.

Rip awoke with a start. “Oh no, not again,” he said. “I’ll never get this finished in time.” He pushed his glasses up onto his nose and looked up. “Mr Rory? I thought you’d decided not to visit again.”

Rip looked utterly baffled.

“Yeah, I brought some friends this time,” said Mick. He held out his hand for the reality gun and Sara handed it to him.

“You brought the janitor? And one of Damien Darhk’s employees, I’m sorry I don’t know your name, or who the gentleman in the grey anorak is.” The three of them had crammed into the doorway, and were eyeing up Rip’s spartan accommodation.

“I had it better in the basement,” said Ray.

Mick pointed the gun at Rip’s head, and the look of utter betrayal followed by miserable acceptance was almost too much to bear. “Not a death ray,” said Mick, quickly, “just something to get your memories back.”

“I have a feeling that there’s a lot here that I’m missing,” said Rip. “But strangely I find that I trust you, Mr Rory. I really hope that my trust isn’t misplaced, but honestly, death might be preferable to another day in this place, so please, do whatever you’re going to do and do it quickly.”

Rip closed his eyes, and Mick pulled the trigger. Rip took a gasp of air and his eyes flew open. He looked around himself, blinking.

“Rip?” asked Sara. “Are you back?”

“Most assuredly, Ms Lance,” said Rip. His eyes focused on Mick.

Mick expected another punch to the jaw, but Rip didn’t seem interested. He just pushed himself to his feet, slightly unsteadily.

“We need to go,” said Ray.

“Yeah, the Legion of Doom is still coming to kill us,” said Nate.

“Unfortunately, you can’t take me with you,” said Rip.

“What? Why not?” asked Sara.

Rip undid the top button of his shirt to reveal the collar beneath. Mick could see the red marks on Rip’s skin that indicated it had been used to cause pain quite recently.

“What’s that?” asked Nate.

“It’s a shock collar,” said Mick, “Thawne uses them on his important employees to get them to do what he wants.”

“It activates automatically if I attempt to leave the premises,” said Rip.

“And I’m assuming we can’t just take it off?” asked Sara.

“Not if I still want to have a head,” replied Rip, “it has an explosive charge in it that’s set to go off if it’s tampered with.”

“Then we need to bypass the circuit,” said Ray. “Can I take a look?”

“Of course,” replied Rip, sitting on the edge of the desk. Ray pulled aside Rip’s shirt collar and began to examine the device around his neck.

“Sara, can I borrow a knife?” asked Ray, not bothering to ask if she had one first. That would have been like asking if Mick had matches.

Sara handed Ray a knife without a word and Ray began to carefully peel back the outer material around the device. Rip was doing his very best to stay still and try to look like he wasn’t at all worried by the knife at his neck. Mick knew that Rip was probably exhausted and in pain, but apparently the Englishman wasn’t going to inform anyone else of that fact.

Mick let out an exasperated huff of air and moved around Rip to rummage through his desk drawers for the painkillers that he knew Rip had hidden there.

“What are you doing?” asked Sara.

“Looking for these,” said Mick, producing the battered packet of painkillers. There weren’t many pills left, probably just enough for two doses. “He needs them.”

Sara gave Rip a look. “Something you want to share?”

“I’m wearing a torture device, Sara. It causes pain by direct nerve induction and is exquisitely agonising. It takes time for the sensation to fade after its been turned off, usually a day or so.” Rip seemed embarrassed more than anything else, but then being at the mercy of your enemy was a humiliating experience.

“Those red marks mean Thawne used it on him recently,” said Mick, handing Rip the pills and the glass of water that was on his desk. Rip downed them without a word and then finished the water. “I’m only doing this so you’ll be able to run faster.”

“Understood, Mr Rory,” said Rip. “Wouldn’t want people to think you care.” The look that accompanied that was quite pointed, however.

“Why didn’t you take the pills earlier?” asked Nate.

“Thawne is not in the habit of handing out analgesics to his prisoners,” said Rip. “I was given those against his directives and I was never sure if I’d be able to get more. I was saving them for the days that are considerably worse than this.”

Mick saw the glance that Sara gave him at that pronouncement. Nate seemed sorry that he had even asked the question.

“How did you know that they were there?” asked Sara, looking at Rory with some suspicion.

Mick made eye contact with Rip, not sure how much of what happened Rip wanted revealed, and Mick wasn’t enthusiastic to rehash it all anyway.

“Mr Rory has been visiting me,” said Rip, watching the arsonist. “He ensured that Thawne didn’t get too carried away on a couple of occasions.”

“But he still left you here, being tortured by a psychopath,” said Ray, who was apparently unimpressed with Mick’s efforts to help Rip. He grabbed a paperclip from the desk and started unbending it.

“If I’d stepped out of line then I’d be dead and none of you would remember a thing,” said Mick, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Can we discuss this when Ray’s not defusing a bomb around my neck?” said Rip, slightly tetchily.

“Good idea,” said Sara. “Ray?”

“I need some wire. A piece long enough that I can attach it to both ends of the collar fastening and then get it over Rip’s head,” said Ray. “That way we won’t break the circuit when I undo the catch to remove it.”

Mick grabbed the lamp from Rip’s desk and pulled the flex out from where it attached to the base. He grabbed the knife and cut the plug off the other end of the cable and then handed it to Ray.

“That do?”

Ray nodded. “Yeah, thanks.” He accepted the knife back and started stripping the ends. “I think it would probably be best if everyone else got a bit of distance between themselves and the collar. I’m fairly sure this will work, but in case it doesn’t…”

“I’m staying,” said Mick.

“No, absolutely not,” said Rip, “I won’t have anyone unnecessarily put in danger on my account. If you don’t have to be here, go and wait in the corridor.”

“Make me,” said Mick.

Rip sighed and rolled his eyes. “May I remind you that if we all die here, there will be no one to stop the Legion.”

Mick gave a shrug. “Blondie, get Pretty out of here.”

Sara gave him an annoyed look. “Aren’t I supposed to be the one in charge here?” Then she pushed Nate out of the room and shouted back. “Okay. We’re clear.”

“Ready?” asked Ray, meeting Rip’s eyes.

“As I’ll ever be,” said Rip.

Mick couldn’t exactly see what Ray had done, but there was now a long wire trailing from the back of the collar and back up to where Ray had cut away some of the outer material.

“If this doesn’t work, then I’m really, really sorry,” said Ray. “And it was nice knowing you.”

“Get on with it, Haircut,” said Mick, impatient to have the thing over with.

“Right, yes, okay, I’m going to break the catch now and then I’ll lift it off gently. Stay really still.”

“Understood,” said Rip, with a nervous swallow, and clearly restraining the impulse to nod.

There was the click of a metal catch releasing as Ray manipulated a knife and a paperclip in some intricate combination of moves that Mick wasn’t really paying attention to. Then the collar was open and Ray was very carefully checking the connections and lifting it up and over Rip’s head. Mick picked up the wastepaper bin and offered it as a receptacle for the explosive item.

Rip and Ray both let out huge sighs of relief. Ray stepped into the corridor, looking for Sara and Nate.

“Explosion averted,” said Ray.

Sara and Nate came dashing back in, and Sara immediately went to Rip and began examining the red marks around his neck. Whilst Rip shooed her away.

“Does it hurt?” she asked, “it looks like a weird sort of bruising.”

“They’re ruptured capillaries,” said Rip, doing up his shirt buttons quickly to hide the marks. “It’s sore, but it’ll fade with time. We need to get out of here.”

Sara gave a single nod. “What’s the best way?”

“Follow me,” said Ray.

Mick noted how Rip moved, stiffly and without his usual fluency. The pain collar could damage nerves permanently if used too much and Mick wondered if Thawn had gone too far. He was going to kill Thawne when he got hold of him.

***

Sara retrieved Amaya, and then Sara and Amaya went to get Jax, whilst Ray, Nate, Mick and Rip tried to work out what the Legion had used to activate the Spear. Half way through the wait for Amaya and Sara to return with Jax, Rip had felt dizzy and it was only because Ray and Nate had caught him that he hadn’t ended up collapsing to the floor. It had then been made clear that he should stop and rest by a certain arsonist, who had been acting quite strangely ever since Rip got his memories back. They hadn’t really needed Rip’s further input into putting together the incantation to make the Spear work anyway, so he’d given in and laid down on the couch. He’d been asleep in minutes, which was testament to how tired he was.

He’d eaten an entire plate of sandwiches whilst working on their Spear problem, more than all the others had managed put together, and he was considering asking for another plateful, at least partly so that he could hide them somewhere. He knew this was a slightly weird thing to be thinking, but he also recognised this behaviour and it only happened when he’d been hungry enough that his mind kicked him into starvation mode.

As a boy, orphaned and alone, he’d starved frequently and if he found food that he couldn’t eat then he’d hide it for later. When he came to the Refuge his adopted mother had tried to gently break him of the habit. She’d been kind about it, and explained that he never had to worry about food in the Refuge. If he was hungry then food was available, but it was years before he’d really stopped. His mother had known his past, and she’d known that a reaction to starvation was often to hoard food, so she’d understood that he found it comforting. He liked to know that there was food somewhere that he could always get to, and she’d been worried about it rather than angry.

Rip discovered that you never forgot what it was like to starve. Vandal Savage had starved him again in Ancient Egypt and, when Rip had finally managed to escape and return to the Waverider, he’d found himself keeping stashes of food around the ship again. This was despite the fact that Gideon could replicate him an endless supply of food if he required it. In fact, it was only when Ray had found one such stash, describing it as a “stash of vintage cereal”, that he’d realised his problem had returned. Hoarding food wasn’t really rational, it was a reaction to stress, but even knowing that, he found it hard not to be embarrassed by it.

The ridiculous thing was that, this time, he’d done this to himself. Thawne hadn’t starved him deliberately, he’d just set things up so that Rip had very little time to eat. Rather than be subjected to more pain, Rip had worked to get his tasks done rather than eat, whether that was bringing Thawne coffee or booking his hotel or sorting out statistics on departmental efficiency. Thawne had set impossible deadlines and impossible standards, and waited for his assistant to fail him so that he could torture him. But he’d also made Rip feel like he could have avoided it if he’d done better. It was a many layered, spitefully twisted torture that would have impressed Rip more if he hadn’t been the victim of it.

There was one more thing that Thawne had seen fit to add to the list of humiliations. He’d made Rip short sighted so that now he couldn’t see a thing without his glasses. The memory gun hadn’t reversed it, so it wasn’t psychosomatic, he really was cursed with poor eyesight now. Rip had to wonder what Thawne had hoped to gain from that, or if he’d just had a vision of what Rip would look like as his assistant and the Spear had done the rest.

Mick put a cup of tea down on the table by the sofa.

“You done sleeping?” he asked.

“For now,” said Rip, pushing himself up into a sitting position.

“Brought you tea,” said Mick, not looking at Rip.

“Careful, Mr Rory, your humanity is showing,” said Rip, and then instantly regretted it when Mick’s eye snapped up and he looked almost embarrassed.

Mick sat down on the table, which creaked under his weight. He looked back to where the others were working as if he wanted to make sure that they weren’t being overheard. Amaya and Jax were also helping now, so the mission to retrieve Jax had been a success.

“Why didn’t you hit me?” asked Mick. “Everyone else did.”

Rip reached for the cup of tea, encircling his hands around the welcome drink. He shrugged. “I didn’t feel the need.”

“Why not?”

“Hit the person who carried me to the Infirmary after I collapsed? That doesn’t seem like a very good way to express my gratitude,” said Rip.

“I let Thawne torture you and I got you all into this in the first place,” said Mick.

“Feeling guilty?” asked Rip.

“No,” said Mick. “I just want to know why you didn’t hit me.”

“I’d probably have fallen flat on my face if I’d tried it,” said Rip, sipping his tea slowly. He had not felt particularly well when they’d woken him up in his office. “But I do have some insight into what it’s like to have divided loyalties, and I also know a thing or two about grief and how it changes us, how it drives us. You and Snart were partners long before I picked you up, which is why I knew you came as a pair. I can imagine what it was like to lose him. I can also imagine what it was like to get him back, even if he isn’t quite the Snart we remember at this point. I know why you went back to him and chose him over us. If I’d been presented with Miranda, back from the dead, well, I could easily have made the same choice that you did.”

He paused, realising that none of that was why he hadn’t hit Mick.

“But that isn’t it. I understood the decision you made, but still hated you for it. No, I didn’t hit you because I wasn’t angry with you. You risked your life on multiple occasions to help me. Thawne could have killed you at any time, but you brought me food, got me medical care and, eventually, you rescued me. Also, I find it hard to hit people who bring me chocolate.” He smiled a little at that memory. “You may not want to admit it, Mr Rory, but somewhere under your gruff exterior is a good man. Perhaps you should let him out more.”

Mick grunted. “I still don’t like you.”

“I admire your persistence, Mr Rory,” said Rip. “But you really will have to stop bringing me tea if you want me to believe you.”

Mick just gave him an annoyed look, stood up, and went back to whatever it was that he’d been doing before. He was replaced by Sara moments later.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“I’ll be fine,” said Rip.

“Not the question I asked,” replied Sara.

“I’m exhausted to the point that even now all I want to do it sleep, every muscle in my body aches, I am blind without my glasses, and I have a strong urge to shove a pile of paperwork down Eobard Thawne’s throat. Does that answer your question?”

“For now,” said Sara. She reached into her pocket and brought out the last of his painkillers from his desk. “Here, take these. I’m sorry we’ve got nothing stronger, but Nate’s Mom’s got more if we need them.”

Rip nodded and accepted the pills gratefully. He took the final two with his tea. “So, do we have a plan?”

“Half a plan,” said Sara. “We’re all learning the incantation to activate the Spear and then we’re going to rescue Martin. Hopefully we’ll get there before Thawne can destroy the Spear and set this reality in for good.”

Rip nodded. “Sounds reasonable.”

“So, what’s with you and Mick?” asked Sara.

“I’m not sure,” said Rip. “I thought perhaps he was feeling guilty for the trouble he caused, but he assures me he isn’t and, in any case, that isn’t really Mr Rory’s style.”

“He made you tea,” said Sara, with a little incredulity. “The two of you have never gotten along. This is… weird.”

Rip shrugged. “I think I realised that I’ve underestimated him for a long time, and perhaps he realised that he can’t turn off his emotions quite as easily as he thought. He witnessed Thawne causing me pain and he stepped in to stop it, despite knowing that Thawne could kill him for it. That isn’t the action of a man who doesn’t care, as he claims to.”

“So, now you’re best buddies?” she asked.

Rip let out a single laugh. “I wouldn’t go that far, but maybe we could be called friends?” He shrugged. Perhaps it wasn’t even that yet, but it might be in the future if Rip didn’t screw it up somehow.

“I’m still not sure that we can trust him,” said Sara. “I’m going to leave him here when we go to get Martin and the Spear.”

“I think that would be a mistake,” said Rip. “He needs to see that we’re giving him a chance. It was our lack of trust that drove him to side with Snart in the first place. However, perhaps if we were to inform Mr Snart of Eobard’s intention to destroy the Spear… we might find that we had another ally.”

“And you think I should send Mick?”

“It would be better coming from him than us. If anyone can persuade Snart that he’s on the wrong side then it’s Mick,” said Rip.

Sara put her head on one side and seemed to think about it for a moment. “I think you should go with him. Remind him why he chose our side again.” She looked back towards the group that were learning the incantation.

Rip also watched Mick, and noted how he stood near but apart from the rest of the team. Work needed to be done there. A betrayal had happened on both sides and it needed to be mended. Trust needed to be restored and it wasn’t there yet.

“Okay,” he said. “Mr Rory and I will go and talk to Snart. Incidentally, you might want to make sure that everyone is on the same page when it comes to what to do if we get the Spear. There’s no room for our own personal agendas here. We all have people we’d like to bring back and vendettas we’d like settled. If one of us gets the Spear, we’re using it for everyone and none of us can let our individual needs get in the way of fixing this.”

Sara nodded. “Don’t worry, this time we’ll do it right.” She gave him a look. “Are you up to this?”

“Well, I have to be, don’t I?” said Rip. “I’ll sleep for a week when we’re done.”

Sara gave him a small smile. “I think I might join you.”

Rip allowed himself a smirk. “Captain Lance, I had no idea you felt that way about me.”

“Dream on, Mr Hunter,” replied Sara, with her own smirk. “Come on, I need you to learn this thing too, and help me formulate exactly what we get people to tell the Spear to do.”

Rip nodded, and taking his tea with him, the two of them joined the rest of the team to finalise their plans.

***

Mick hadn’t been totally sold on this idea. Snart had very little reason to join them again, but he’d let himself be talked into it because he really didn’t want to have to fight his former partner.

“The League of Losers cut you loose?” said Snart, as Mick approached. Snart had arranged the meeting on neutral territory, the ground floor of a parking garage, which was a typical Snart move. His partner was cautious, a survival trait that had kept him alive so far.

“Not quite,” said Rip.

As soon as he heard Rip’s voice, Snart turned around with his cold gun drawn and pointed in Rip’s direction. It was unnecessary, Rip was unarmed as they hadn’t managed to acquire a gun for him yet. Rip put his hands up in the universal gesture of “I have no weapons” and tried to look as unthreatening as possible.

“You didn’t say you were bringing company, Mick,” said Snart, with suspicion.

 “I’m not here to come back,” said Mick. He didn’t like the way Snart was looking at Rip. It would only take a twitch of Snart’s finger and the Englishman would be an ice cube.

“I’m your partner,” said Snart, with annoyance. “You don’t need them.”

“But you did,” said Mick. “You’re the one who suggested we join up with them.”

“Different time, different place,” said Snart. “Clearly I was going soft in the head.”

“Your current partners are not to be trusted, Mr Snart,” said Rip. “We’re here to ask you to join us. Help us put right everything that the Spear has broken.”

“It’s not broken. I’ve got almost everything I ever wanted. This is pretty much paradise,” said Snart.

“Paradise? Where’s the fun in robbing banks when you own the police?” asked Mick. “It’s boring. There’s no challenge. I don’t even get to burn stuff anymore.”

“Are you really happy living in a world where you can just walk into any building in the city and take whatever you want without a chase or a shootout?” asked Rip, with a gesture towards the city. “The Leonard Snart that I knew wanted to use that brain on his shoulders, not let it atrophy from disuse. And you can’t possibly enjoy being Eobard Thawne’s lapdog. I know I didn’t, but then I wasn’t given a choice.”

The cold gun dropped. “So, you get the Spear and put everything back how it was? What’s to stop you from creating your own world that’s just as bad as this one, or wiping me from existence?”

“Nothing,” said Mick. “But we won’t.”

“That’s all well and good for you, Mick. I might trust _you_ to do the right thing, _partner_ , but what’s to say that the rest of your “team” will too.” The word “partner” was drawled out with obvious contempt.

“Because I trust them,” said Mick.

“That’s how a team works, Mr Snart. We trust each other to do the right thing,” said Rip.

“Like you trusted Mick not to steal the Spear of Destiny, you mean? He let Thawne keep you as a pet, humiliate you, and make you scream. I bet you’ve still got the marks from that collar he had you wearing too,” said Snart.

Mick saw Rip straighten up, going stiff at the mention of his torture. Mick looked away. Snart was right, he’d done all those things and Rip did have the marks because of it.

“Mick made a mistake, but he did something about it,” said Rip. “He’s also the one responsible for the fact that I’m not still wearing that collar and stuck answering to Eobard Thawne’s every whim. I’d trust Mick with my life.”

Mick stared at Rip for a moment. He wondered if the Englishman was lying for Snart’s benefit, but he seemed sincere.

“Why, Rip, you’re quite the sentimental one, aren’t you?” drawled Snart.

“It’s not sentimentality, it’s the truth,” replied Rip, without even a second’s hesitation.

“Len, I don’t want to fight you,” said Mick. “Come and join us.”

“Thawne’s planning to destroy the Spear and we could really use you,” said Rip.

Snart looked off to the side for a moment and shouldered his cold gun. He met Mick’s eyes. “This had better not be a setup.”

“It’s not,” said Mick. “If you come with us now, you’re part of the team. We’ll have your back.”

Rip nodded. “This isn’t who you’re supposed to be, Mr Snart. You’re a Legend, you belong with us.”

There was the slightest upturn to the corner of one side of Snart’s lips. Mick knew that look and it meant that Snart was hooked.

“Come on then, we’d best not hang around,” said Snart. “We’ve got reality to put right.”

Mick grinned. Heatwave and Captain Cold were back together again.

***

They arrived just in time to see Thawne trying to throw the Spear into the reactor. Things clearly hadn’t gone exactly according to plan, but when did they ever? Mick was quick with his heat gun and managed to knock the Spear out of Thawne’s hand and away across the lab.

“Not so fast, Speedy, you’ve got something we want,” said Snart.

“Yes, we’ll be taking the Spear now,” said Rip. He still didn’t have a gun and was feeling a little underdressed without one, but the two Rogues were more than making up for his lack of firepower.

“Don’t you understand!” shouted Eobard. “I’m trying to protect you from yourselves.”

“Bored now,” said Snart, and shot Thawne in the chest with the cold gun. It was quite an effective weapon against speedsters.

So that left Thawne’s men to take down, and in the scuffle, Mick ended up with the Spear. He stood there for a second, clearly contemplating what to do.

“It’s yours, Mr Rory,” said Rip, punching a security guard in the face and watching him fall to the ground. “It seems fitting that it’s you that sets right all the damage the Spear has done.”

“Do it, Mick,” shouted Sara.

Mick began the chant and the Spear glowed blue. Rip was never quite sure what he remembered from the next few moments. The memory had a habit of slipping out of his grip and it seemed to differ every time he tried to think about it. Usually there was a white room and Mick was talking to someone, although it was never clear who it was, at one point he thought it was Miranda, but then it wasn’t. And there was something going on in the background, perhaps people cooking in a kitchen, but it could as easily have been a football game, or a rock concert. Then they were all back on the Waverider, on the bridge, stood around the table. Mick was still holding the Spear.

“Woah,” said Jax. “That was… weird.”

“Trippy,” said Ray.

“Very peculiar,” added Martin.

Rip felt dizzy and found himself leaning against the table as he tried to shake off the sensation. He realised that he felt well again, not starving, or sore, or exhausted, but fine, and it had been so long since he’d just felt like this that it was quite the shock.

“You okay?” asked Sara.

Rip blinked. He realised that he also wasn’t wearing his glasses and he could see perfectly again. “Yes, just a bit of an abrupt transition.”

“Did everyone else see a white room and Mick talking to Snart?” asked Amaya.

“Snart? I thought it was Einstein,” said Ray.

“Looked more like Elvis,” said Martin. “Or perhaps John Lennon.”

“No, it was Oliver Queen,” said Nate, “or I guess it could have been my Mom.”

“It was a woman,” said Sara. “I thought it was Laurel for a second.”

“It was God,” said Mick, in the kind of matter of fact way that only he could manage. “I talked to God.”

“Of course you did,” said Rip, somewhat sarcastically, before the situation caught up with him. “Wait, maybe you actually did.”

Mick was looking a little smug.

“Mick talked to God?” asked Sara.

“It _is_ the Spear of Destiny,” said Rip. “Who knows what’s possible?”

“So, is everything back where it should be?” asked Ray.

Mick grinned. “Yeah, everything’s back the way it was, except Thawne’s gone for good. Merlyn and Darhk are back in their own times. The Spear’s depowered.”

“Nicely done, Mr Rory,” said Rip. “I’m thinking that perhaps we should also throw the Spear into the sun, just to be on the safe side.”

Everyone around the table nodded their enthusiastic agreement.

“Okay, Gideon, set us a course for the sun, but not too close,” said Sara.

“Yes, Captain Lance,” said Gideon. “And may I take a moment to welcome everyone back? It is good to have you all on board again. I was getting rather lonely without you.”

“It’s good to be back, Gideon,” said Rip.

“You might have told me that we were having a meeting,” came a familiar drawl from the doorway of the bridge.

As one, the crew turned towards the approaching figure of Leonard Snart.

“Mick!” said Sara. “You were supposed to just put everything back the way it was.”

Mick just shrugged. “I asked God and she was cool with it.”

Rip sighed. “Well, it’s not like we can send him back or change anything else now that the Spear’s depowered. Snart did help us get the Spear back. I suppose it’s only fair and we did all miss him.”

“What the hell are you all on about?” asked Snart, looking very puzzled.

“Mr Rory just brought you back from the dead, Mr Snart,” said Martin. “Mazel tov.”

“What?!” asked Snart. “Have you all totally lost your minds?”

“And you were evil for a bit,” chimed in Ray. “Or maybe just not you yet?”

“This is some kind of elaborate practical joke, isn’t it?” asked Snart.

“Unfortunately not,” said Rip. He let out a sigh. There was a lot of explaining to do and it had been a long day.

Mick dropped the Spear on the table in the study, and headed off the bridge.

“Where are you going?” asked Sara.

“The galley,” said Mick. “I’m not tackling this without food and alcohol, and there are more seats there.”

“That’s actually a good idea,” said Sara. “Come on, we can go through this while we eat.”

There were murmurs of agreement from everyone, and they all headed to the galley, Snart looking just a little bit uncomfortable on the short walk. Mick grabbed a bottle of beer from the fridge and handed another one to Snart, before sitting in his chosen chair. The rest of the crew busied themselves getting whatever they wanted. Ray put a bowl of chips down in the centre of the table.

“Hey, English,” said Mick.

“Yes, Mr Rory,” said Rip, looking up from where he was putting together the things to make a cup of tea.

“Second cupboard on the right, bottom shelf,” said Mick.

Rip frowned, but opened the door. Chocolate bars spilled out onto the counter top. He definitely didn’t remember these being here before and he’d have stowed them more carefully if he’d been the one to acquire them.

“Did you use the Spear of Destiny to make bars of chocolate?” asked Rip, accusingly.

“You’re welcome,” said Mick, with a raise of his beer bottle in Rip’s direction.

Rip just stared at Mick for a moment in utter disbelief. Then he felt himself begin to smile, and finally laugh, because it was so ridiculous and he was so relieved to be home.

“Do you think he’s alright?” asked Jax.

“I think that’s a totally reasonable reaction to Spear of Destiny chocolate,” said Martin.

Rip dumped an armful of the bars of chocolate on the table, and everyone dug in. He sipped his tea and they all tried to explain to Snart what Mick had done and how. Snart remembered the Oculus but not really anything after that. He’d lost a year, but compared to being dead that wasn’t so bad.

And Rip decided that trusting Mick Rory to use the Spear of Destiny wisely was the best decision he’d ever made.


	3. Sara and the Boy or The Jeet Kune Do Kid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sara was good at one thing and that was killing people. Training a kid wasn't really what she expected to be doing with her time and she certainly didn't expect to start worrying about him.
> 
> Warnings: Child abuse (mostly off camera but one incidence isn't), Character death (but everyone dies in Aruba, I've just changed the order it happens in)

* * *

  
Sara only met Thawne’s son because her boss, Damien Darhk, owed Thawne a favour. Darhk called her into his office and gave her a special assignment. She was to go on secondment to Mr Thawne, who had asked Darhk if he would allow her to spend a few hours a week training his son to fight. To be honest, given her usual line of work, it sounded like a pretty easy gig, even if kids weren’t really her thing.

She reported to Mr Thawne’s mansion that same afternoon for their first lesson. The speedster’s house was an opulent dream home that was conveniently close to STARLabs, but still in one of the nicest parts of Central City. The décor inside was everything that Sara had imagined it to be, over the top, lots of gold and red and without any real comfort or soul. She hated the place the moment she walked into it.

Thawne and his son were waiting for her when she arrived.

“This is Michael,” said Thawne, with a strangely smug look on his face, as if there was something special about the boy who stood in front of her. He was probably about twelve, lightly built with auburn hair, dark green eyes, and an unusually serious expression on his face. He was dressed in a white shirt and dark pants, with a navy blue blazer jacket with brass buttons. She doubted that he’d chosen the outfit himself.

“Michael, this is Sara Lance and she’s going to teach you how to fight. She practices a style of fighting called Jeet Kune Do and she’s very good at it.”

“Yes, Father,” said the boy, formally, in an accent that matched his father’s.

“Don’t go easy on him, Miss Lance, Michael already knows that mercy isn’t a trait I admire. I expect to see good progress by the end of the week.”

“Understood, Mr Thawne,” said Sara.

So, she had trained him, three times a week every week, and Michael had been very willing to learn. He was even more eager to impress his father, who showed no signs of being impressed. Thawne would come and watch them every so often, and Sara never heard him praise his son once. That should have alerted her that something wasn’t right with the picture early on, but she had a lot on her mind, so didn’t really think about it. Mr Thawne had always come across as an arrogant bastard, so she wasn’t that surprised to find out that he wasn’t a particularly kind or expressive man when it came to his son.

She’d started out with the basics of hand to hand combat, teaching Michael to punch and kick. The huge mansion where Thawne lived had a dedicated gym that they used, with mats and equipment, and it was a good space for their lessons. A tutor would bring Michael to the gym, but he was normally left alone with her while they worked, and they would talk during their breaks to grab water.

“What do you do for Mr Darhk?” Michael asked.

She was a little floored by that question. She didn’t like to lie to Michael. It was important that she give him honest feedback on his progress and she couldn’t do that and then lie about this.

“I’m an assassin,” she replied. “I kill vigilante terrorists and people who call themselves “heroes”.”

“Did you help to execute the Flash?” asked Michael.

“I was there,” said Sara, “but Mr Darhk wanted to handle that one personally. He has magical abilities and I think he’s the only person who could have taken down a speedster like the Flash, well, with the exception of your Dad.”

Michael shrugged. “Dad just runs the Labs mostly. He doesn’t do much fighting these days,” said Michael. “That must have been kind of cool though, taking out a big terrorist like the Flash?”

Sara gave him a slight smile. “Yeah, it was a good day.”

“Where did you learn to fight?”

“Nanda Parbat,” said Sara. “There’s a sort of school there.”

Michael nodded. “I’ve studied Nanda Parbat and the League of Assassins. I had to write a dissertation on it for my end of year exams. Father is keen that I go there when I’m old enough. He wants me to hunt down his enemies for him.”

Sara frowned. “And what do you want to do when you’re older?”

Michael shrugged. “I don’t know. I’d like to travel and see the world. I’m interested in history. I think I’d most like to be an archaeologist.”

“That sounds interesting. I was never that good at history,” said Sara.

“You probably just needed a better teacher,” said Michael. “It’s quite fascinating, but it isn’t always taught well. They miss out all the interesting stuff, for example, did you know that Genghis Khan was really called Temujin and created an international postal system? He also killed about 40 million people with his army, but that isn’t the most fascinating thing about him.”

Sara smiled. “That actually is quite interesting.”

“Okay, how about this: he had a general that he nicknamed Jebe or “Arrow” because he’d fought on the enemy’s side in a war and nearly killed Genghis by shooting his horse out from under him. He decided that he was the kind of talent he wanted and promoted him.”

“Huh, I guess talent was important him. So, your Dad has you learning about Genghis Khan?” she asked.

Michael nodded. “And Alexander, Hannibal, and the great Roman generals. We’re moving towards the modern era and the great dictators.”

Sara couldn’t help but notice that all the history that Michael was learning was about wars and oppressors. She supposed that she shouldn’t be that surprised. Eobard Thawne was known for his great strategy in business, but also his ruthless streak. It made sense that he’d want his son to learn about the great generals and their tactics for success.

“Right, that’s enough of a break,” she said. “We’ve still got quite a lot of work to do on your blocks.”

“Yes, Miss Lance,” he replied, and headed back to the centre of the mat where he dropped back into the correct stance immediately, eager to get back to work.

She slowly found herself warming to the kid over their weeks of lessons and they got on quite well, despite the age difference. It was becoming one of the more fun things that she got to do, better than chasing down this week’s poor excuse for a vigilante.

“Okay, attack me,” she said.

Michael raised his eyebrows, in an expression that she was getting quite used to. “Are you sure?”

“Come on, Mikey, you haven’t hit me once,” replied Sara with a smirk. He hated it when she shortened his name to her chosen diminutive, and she knew it would annoy him.

He glared and aimed a rather good punch at her jaw. He’d been paying attention to his training, but she was expecting it so had plenty of time to dodge and attack. He in his turn stepped under her kick and aimed one of his own. She caught his leg and he went down on the mat, rolling exactly as she’d taught him to.

“Good,” she said, as he jumped to his feet and went into a practiced series of punches. She blocked each one, allowing him to finish the sequence as good training. He was getting faster and, when he was grown, he’d have more than enough power behind his fists. She’d got quite the fighter on her hands. She wasn’t easy on him in training, he needed to be able to take punches as well as dish them out, and her methods were bearing fruit.

She ducked down and swept out a foot. He jumped out of the way and she sidestepped a punch to her centre mass. She used his own move against him and he wasn’t quite experienced enough to block her punch. He let out a gasp of air and fell backwards onto the mat, tripping over his own feet in his late attempt to dodge. She’d entirely expected this and was about to go through what he’d done wrong and get him to try again, when they were interrupted.

“You’re useless at even this,” said a voice from the doorway.

“Father!” Michael said in a surprised tone. Sara caught the fear in his eyes, even though he quickly tried to cover it. He scrambled to his feet and stood to attention as Sara also turned towards Thawne.

“Mr Thawne, Michael’s actually been making good progress,” said Sara.

“Then why was he lying on the mat? Redouble your efforts, Miss Lance, or I’ll have to look into other methods of training my son,” said Thawne, imperiously. “Michael, it’s time for you to accompany me to the reception.”

“But Father, I’d hoped to…” began Michael.

“Quiet. You can mess about in your own time,” said Thawne, cutting off the boy before he could even make the request for whatever it was that he’d wanted to do. “You’re done here for today.”

Sara kept her expression neutral, despite what she was thinking. If he’d been anyone but Thawne then she might have said something, but you didn’t cross the most powerful man in the world. Besides, even if Thawne wasn’t exactly a great father, Michael lived in a very luxurious house and had servants and things that Sara couldn’t even dream of. It probably wasn’t that bad.

Michael turned to Sara. “Thank you for my lesson, Miss Lance. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Michael,” said Sara. She had a vigilante to hunt down, so she did need to get back to work. She watched Michael trail out of the room behind his father and wondered what it was like to be Michael Thawne.

She found out the next day when Michael arrived with a black eye and a broken arm, cradled in a sling.

“What happened?” she asked, a little shocked.

“I fell down the stairs,” said Michael. “Father says I should try to be less clumsy.”

Sara rolled her eyes. She didn’t believe that for a moment. There also wasn’t much she could do. Thawne was powerful enough that he’d just buy off anyone who might have helped Michael.

“He hit you, didn’t he?” she asked, gently.

Michael looked down at his feet, and gave a small nod. “He said I embarrassed him. That I’m weak, stupid and useless. He should have chosen someone else to be his son.”

“That’s a strange thing to say,” said Sara.

“I’m adopted,” said Michael. “I never knew who my biological parents were.”

Sara shook her head. “That wasn’t the bit I meant. Clearly you’re not weak or stupid or useless. You give me a good run for my money now.”

“But I’m not good enough for him,” said Michael. “I try to please him, but it’s never enough.”

“All you can do is your best, Michael,” said Sara. “I love my work, but Mr Darhk isn’t exactly effusive in his praise. I could kill all the terrorist vigilantes and heroes in the world and I doubt he’d tell me “good work, Miss Lance”. I know I did a good job and my partner, Amaya, knows I did a good job, so I rely on that.”

“It must be nice to have a partner,” said Michael, somewhat sadly.

Sara gave a shrug. “Yeah, it’s good to have someone to talk to, someone who can relate, and who can join you for a few drinks in the evening when the job’s done. But you know, I like you, kid. When you’re old enough, I’d take you on as a partner. Right now, we could just settle for being friends?”

Michael gave her a small smile, which given how serious he was most of the time she took as victory.

“Friends,” he repeated.

“Friends,” she agreed. “Does he hit you a lot?”

Michael shrugged, the smile disappearing from his face as he looked down again. “Define “a lot”. It depends what I’ve done. I tried to run away once and he locked me in a cupboard and didn’t feed me for three days. There are worse things than being hit.”

That sounded far too old for someone his age to be saying, and for a moment Sara imagined what Michael might look like when he’d grown up. She thought of him having a beard and a long coat for some reason, but the vision was gone as soon as it came.

“There are,” she agreed. “There are better things too. Would you like a hug?”

He looked a little embarrassed, but gave a slight nod and Sara went to him, mindful of his injured arm, and gently hugged him. It took several seconds for him to wrap his own arms around her and hug her back. They stood like that for several minutes, before he backed away.

“I’m going to see if there’s something that I can do about your situation, Michael,” said Sara.

“Don’t,” said Michael. “He’ll just hurt you too and I’ve got one thing in my life that cheers me up and that’s my training sessions with you. If he takes those away…” The boy looked miserable at the mere idea.

“Okay, but if he hits you again, I’m not sure I can just stand by,” said Sara.

“Please, you have to,” said Michael, almost begging. “I’ll be fine. He tries not to leave any visible marks, normally. He was just very angry this time.”

Sara gave him a long look. She didn’t like this, but Eobard Thawne was basically untouchable. She’d have to help Michael in other ways, assuming she could come up with any.

“Well, we can’t do much in the way of hand to hand today. I guess we’d best practice our footwork,” said Sara, changing the topic. “Then maybe I’ll teach you how to use a sword in your off hand. How does that sound?”

“Fine, thank you, Miss Lance,” said Michael.

“Hey, we’re friends now, so you’d better call me Sara,” she said with a smile.

Michael gave her a smile and a tiny nod in acknowledgement. “Sara,” he replied.

It felt like she’d given him something precious. She suddenly wondered if he actually had any friends of his own age, but couldn’t bring herself to ask. She certainly didn’t recall him ever speaking about anyone, and now that she thought about it, he rarely ever talked about anything except his schoolwork and the engagements he went to with his father. She wondered if he’d ever done anything just for fun. She wondered if he ever got to do something as frivolous as play.

They went into their session and when they were finished, Michael left smiling. For the first time in a long while, Sara felt like she might have done something good.

***

That wasn’t the last time Michael came to training with bruises, but he did at least have someone to talk to. He liked Sara a lot but he wasn’t stupid, he knew that she was just being nice to him because he was Eobard Thawne’s son. He’d never had a friend. His Father had always been against him having ties and worried about people kidnapping him. Michael always had a bodyguard whenever he left the house. He occasionally reflected that for all the luxury he was surrounded by now, he’d actually been happier when he’d been an orphan living in the Refuge. At least there had been other children there.

He knew that his Father had plans for him. Although exactly what they might be, he wasn’t sure. He suspected that’s why Sara was training him, though. Father never did anything without a reason. Whatever his Father wanted him to do then he would need to be able to fight.

His training with Sara took an interesting turn when they moved onto knives and guns. He was good with knives. He picked up the fighting style quickly, and was even quite good at throwing them. However, he had an innate talent for guns. It took him a week, but by the end of that time, he was more accurate than Sara. It was the first time he’d ever been better than Sara at anything, and she was happy for him about it and proud. It was an unexpected reaction, because he’d half expected her to be angry at him for showing up a deficiency in her skills. But this was Sara and he should have known better. He still didn’t let his own happiness show until he was certain that she really was okay with it.

She brought jellybeans to their next session, as a celebratory gift for him. He’d once mentioned that they were his favourite sweet, and he was so surprised he didn’t know what to do at first. His Father wasn’t keen on allowing him such fripperies and if he found them then he’d be in trouble.

“Come on, take them. I got them for you,” said Sara, holding out the packet of sweets for him. “I did remember right, didn’t I?”

Michael nodded. “Yes, sorry, I just wasn’t expecting a gift.” He accepted the sweets and put them with his kit bag. “Thank you.”

“It’s a reward for doing well,” said Sara. “Haven’t you ever been given something for good work?”

Michael frowned and thought about it. Then he shook his head.

“What about birthdays?” asked Sara.

“I don’t know when my birthday is,” said Michael. “Father has never suggested we celebrate my adoption date.”

“Christmas?” asked Sara.

“Generally, Father works on Christmas day. He gave me a toy space ship this year, though. I did actually quite like it, even if I’m a bit old for toys. It was better than the pen set he gave me the year before,” said Michael.

Sara let out a sigh. “He’s not going to win father of the year, your Dad, and that’s for sure.”

Michael shrugged. “I’ve got food and clothes. A friend. Things could be a lot worse.” He looked up at Sara with a nervous smile.

She smiled back. “Come on, let’s get started. I thought we’d try sticks today.”

She handed him a pair of fighting sticks and they started their lesson. He let the physicality of it take him out of himself and give him some respite from his dreary existence as Eobard Thawne’s son. The lesson ended and he said his goodbyes to Sara, tucking her gift safely into his bag. He needed to attend to his schoolwork, otherwise his Father would be angry about something else. He left his bag at the end of the bed and moved to his desk, taking out his books, trying to remember what he was supposed to be learning today for this afternoon’s lesson.

On impulse he turned around, grabbed the jellybeans from his bag and took them over to the desk so that he could eat them while he worked. The first one was the best. It had been so long since he’d had even a single jellybean that he’d forgotten what they tasted like. He wanted to savour them so he took his time over each one.

It was unfortunate that his Father picked today to see how his studies were going and found him eating the contraband candy. It was even more unfortunate that Michael decided to fight back. Sara had taught him well, but he wasn’t as big or as fast as his Father and the fight was one sided. His Father openly laughed at his attempts to hit him. He landed at least one punch, but that just made his Father more angry. He knew that he’d probably have got off with a few new bruises and no food for a day if he hadn’t decided to fight, but it was too late now.

“Where did you get these, you little runt?” asked his Father. “How dare you defy my rules.”

Michael shook his head as he struggled in his Father’s grip. “Nowhere. I found them.”

“You think I was born yesterday? Who gave them to you?”

“I found them,” Michael maintained, his Father was choking him against the wall now, but he wasn’t going give him Sara’s name. He couldn’t give up the one good thing in his life. The one thing he looked forwards to.

“Who. Gave. Them. To. You?” enunciated his Father, with frightening menace.

“I found them,” he said, again, weakly this time. His eyes were flashing with defiance though, and he hadn’t even known he was capable of this disobedience. He couldn’t breathe and black spots flashed across his eyes.

He barely remembered what happened after that, but he woke up in the hospital, in a private room being cared for by doctors in the pay of his Father. These were the same ones who had agreed that he should be more careful when going down the stairs.

“You really must be more careful on you bike, Michael,” said one of the doctors. “You’re lucky to be alive after the fall you had.”

Michael, in pain and too broken to really care, agreed that he should be more careful on his bicycle, even though he didn’t remember riding it. The thing which made him hurt the most was knowing that he’d miss several lessons with Sara now.

***

The first Sara knew of it was when she got a message that Michael was ill and so she wouldn’t be needed to teach him for a few days. She tried asking what was wrong and got stonewalled. That made her immediately more suspicious.

“Amaya,” she said, calling across the small office that they shared when they weren’t out in the field. “Something’s up with the kid. Want to help me dig up the dirt on what Thawne’s done this time?”

Amaya took her feet off her desk. She’d been going through a bunch of leads that they had on a hero calling himself Spartan. He wasn’t one of the big ones, just annoying mainly. They’d already taken down the Green Arrow and the Flash by this point, so really everything was easy from here on out.

“Sure,” said Amaya. “Do you think he hurt him again?”

Sara had mentioned Michael’s broken arm to her partner, mainly because she needed someone to talk to and Amaya was the only real friend she had in this place. Amaya had agreed that Thawne was a bastard and then also agreed that really there wasn’t anything that they could do about it if they valued their lives.

“Yeah, I’d bet this week’s wages on it,” said Sara. “And the first round of cocktails is on me if you come up with proof.”

Amaya tapped away on her computer. “Got it,” she proclaimed. “St Barnabas, in Central City. Michael Thawne was admitted yesterday evening after a bike riding accident.”

“Yeah, right, like he’d let the poor kid out to ride a bike,” said Sara. “Can you get me the ward and room number?”

Amaya nodded. “Are you sure this is a good idea? We’re not supposed to mess with Thawne’s people. You know the rules. We’re not even supposed to operate in Central City without Thawne or Snart’s permission.”

Sara shrugged. “I’m just going to visit the kid, not break him out.”

Amaya gave her a knowing look, but wrote the ward and room numbers down on a piece of paper and handed them to Sara. “I’ll see what else I can dig up while you’re out visiting, but Thawne’s got more than enough money and power to cover up anything that he wants.”

“Thanks, partner,” said Sara, very grateful for the help.

“Stay out of trouble, Sara,” said Amaya. “I don’t want to have to break in a new partner.”

Sara just gave her a smirk, and headed out.

Getting into the hospital was easy. She just waited until it was dark and walked in the front door, avoiding areas where there were cameras of course. She admitted that she had no idea why she was doing this. She was a badass assassin who didn’t care about anything, let alone a 12-year-old kid who just happened to be the son of the most successful man alive. Amaya was completely right, this kind of stuff led to trouble, but Michael made her want to do things like this for some reason.

She found the right floor and realised that it was for private patients only, which made complete sense. She decided that her best bet was the crawlspace in the ceiling, so she headed for a maintenance hatch and shimmied her way around between the utilities and air conditioning ducts. She kept her bearings by checking her position through the vents every so often, and eventually found Michael’s room.

He was alone, but there were guards on the door so she’d have to be careful about how she did this. The kid was lying in the bed, looking ridiculously small and pale against the sheets, hooked up to all sorts of medical devices. She carefully removed the ventilation grid and jumped down through the hole that she’d made. She’d need a chair to get back up again, but that shouldn’t be a problem.

“Sara!” exclaimed Michael from the bed, it was more of a croak than anything else. Then he winced as he’d clearly hurt something just by saying that word.

“Hey, Michael,” said Sara, quietly, remembering the guards just outside the door. “So, I heard you fell off your bike.”

She approached the bed, pulling a chair over so that she could sit beside him. The bruises around his throat made it quite obvious that he hadn’t sustained these injuries from falling off a bike. She wondered what else Thawne had done. She really hated Thawne right now.

Michael rolled his eyes. “I’m not allowed to ride a bike.” It sounded like it hurt him to even talk, and given his bruised neck, it might.

He shifted his hand painfully across the sheets towards her and she took it in her own, gently. His knuckles were red and it looked like he’d hit something.

“What really happened?” she asked.

“I fought back,” said Michael, simply. “I wasn’t good enough. He broke some ribs.”

“And the rest,” said Sara. “Your father’s a speedster, Michael. Why did you even try?”

“I was fed up with being hit,” said Michael.

It was as good an answer as any that Sara had heard.

“Yeah, well, you need to grow a bit before you try that again,” said Sara. “And I think it’s time I started working out a way to get you away from your father.”

Michael could clearly barely move without a considerable degree of pain, but he was shaking his head. “No, Sara, you can’t. He’ll kill you.”

“I’m more worried that he’ll kill _you_ ,” said Sara. “I don’t think there’s an inch on your body that isn’t bruised.”

Michael just gave her a look at that.

“Tell me that you don’t want to leave, and I’ll give up on it, but I think we both know that you hate living in that house with him and you’d rather be anywhere but there,” said Sara.

Michael gave her a small nod. “But it’s too dangerous. He’s practically a god, Sara.”

“Michael, do you trust me?” she asked.

“Of course,” said Michael.

“And you know what I’m capable of,” said Sara. “I promise, I’ll find you a new home. Somewhere you can grow up without fear. But we’re going to have to wait until you’re properly healed. What’s the ETA on that?”

“They think it’ll take five or six weeks for my ribs to heal,” said Michael. “The other stuff should take less time.”

Sara nodded. “Okay, that should be enough time to come up with a plan. Do you think you can hang in there until then?”

Again, she got a look. “Of course. I’ll just keep my head down.”

Michael had already learnt that if you kept quiet and went along with the rules then no one noticed you and you didn’t get hurt. Sara would have given anything for him to have missed out on that particular bit of education. He yawned, blinking tiredly. Sara realised that he needed to rest to heal and she was probably keeping him up when she should be letting him sleep.

“Right, I’ve got to go, but I’ll come back tomorrow night. Assuming I don’t get called out to deal with another vigilante crisis,” she said, giving his hand a final gentle squeeze and then moving the chair under the hole in the ceiling that she’d made.

“Do you have to go?” he asked.

“Sorry, Michael,” she said, genuinely sad that she couldn’t stay longer. “Those guards outside the room could come in at any moment and if anyone finds me here then we’ll both be in trouble. I don’t want to make this any worse for you. I promise, I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

It nearly broke her heart that she had to leave him. She still wasn’t sure why, but somehow Michael was now important to her and she cared about him.

“Okay,” he replied in a small voice, reminding her that he was only a child and he was probably scared and lonely. She went back to the bed and placed a soft kiss on his forehead.

“I’ll sort it out, Michael,” she said. “Don’t worry. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He rewarded her with a small smile and a slight nod. Then she pulled herself back into the ceiling before she could regret her decision to leave.

She visited him twice more in the hospital, both times were secretive and too short, and then he was discharged to recuperate at home. She couldn’t get to his house to see him for a week, but then she managed to persuade Thawne that she should be there to help him with his physiotherapy and that it would be good for his future training if she could at least supervise. He agreed without much thought, too busy with some project that he was building.

Michael was amazingly stoic, dealing with pain that adults would have balked at. It worried her that he was becoming too used to all the hurt and lack of care. However, whenever he saw her, the hard look on his face softened and she thought that there might still be hope for him. It took her quite a while to even get the start of her plan in place to help him.

“I’ve got a plan,” she said to him, quietly, as they went through a series of stretches. She hadn’t wanted to get his hopes up until she was sure she had at least something. “My partner, Amaya, is going to help us. Just make sure that you have a bag packed and are ready to go at a moment’s notice. We’ll have to change your name and I still need to find somewhere to hide you, but it’ll be okay.”

The bruises had faded, and he was almost back to full health. They were tentatively resuming a light schedule of training, whilst Sara carefully watched him for any signs that it was too much.

“You’ll be really careful?” he asked. “If Father gets even the slightest word of this plan then I’m not sure what he’ll do in retaliation.”

Sara was pretty certain that Thawne would kill her and probably hurt Michael again, but she didn’t say that.

“The only people who know about my plan are you, me and my partner, Amaya,” said Sara. “We’ve been cautious.”

Her phone beeped at her and she looked at the display. She sighed. “Sorry, kid, but I’ve got to go. We finally got a lead on Felicity Smoak. I’ll be back day after tomorrow and then I’ll get you out of here. Remember to keep your head down.”

Michael nodded, looking a little disappointed, as he always did when she had to cut things short.

She had every intention of following through on her plan to rescue him, but then she was sent to hunt down Mick Rory, and ended up meeting Ray and Nate, and everything changed.

***

“I don’t know where the Englishman is,” said Mick Rory. They were sat around in Nate’s mother’s basement and trying to work out their next move.

“I do,” said Sara, with a sigh. She was remembering the auburn hair, the green eyes and the unmistakeable nose that she’d recognise anywhere. It was only the surrealism of it that had slowed her down when putting the pieces together.

“Where is he?” asked Ray.

“Have any of you met Thawne’s son, Michael?” she asked.

Ray shook his head. “Thawne didn’t have a son before, did he?”

Sara shook her head. “That’s because it’s Rip. He’s about 12 years old and Thawne had me training him in hand to hand combat. I think he had plans for him to become his bodyguard or something. He hasn’t exactly been kind to him. Amaya and I were going to get him out of there before Thawne hit him once too often and killed him.”

Amaya frowned. “Michael is actually Rip?” She’d never actually seen Michael, so she didn’t know what he looked like.

“And Rip is now 12 years old?” asked Nate.

Sara nodded. “Michael was Rip’s birth name. It sort of makes sense. He believes he’s Thawne’s adopted son and he’s probably waiting for me to come and rescue him about now.”

“Well, that’s going to make things more complicated,” said Ray.

“We still need to get Jax and the Professor,” said Amaya.

Sara nodded. “Rip will have to wait a little longer. He should be safe where he is for now.”

They left to get Jax and then to get Martin and stop Thawne from destroying the Spear. Unfortunately, the last part of that didn’t go according to plan.

One moment Amaya had the Spear and the next, she was dead. Thawne threw the Spear into the reactor and then he had them surrounded with armed men. Sara was all set to fight her way out, except one of them was shorter than all the others. Amongst the guards was a boy with floppy auburn hair, and green eyes, a boy that she’d trained to stand ready for combat exactly as he was.

“Michael?” asked Sara. She couldn’t exactly call him Rip, even though that’s who he was, because Michael had no idea of what had been done to him.

He was holding a gun, and wearing the uniform of Eobard Thawne’s personal guard. The gun was trained on her, and she was well aware of just how good a shot her pupil was.

“You betrayed us. You betrayed _me_ ,” said Michael, angrily. “You were going to reverse everything. Make it so that I didn’t exist.”

Realisation dawned on Sara. Thawne had clearly given his son some half-truths as explanation for what was going on here.

She shook her head. “No, Michael, that’s not right. You still would have existed, we’d still have been friends, but you’re not a 12-year-old boy in that reality, you’re a grown man.”

“Liar!” Michael shouted. “At least make your lies believable, Sara.”

“Michael, this is what I had you trained for. Shoot her!” shouted Thawne. “She’s a traitor.”

“You didn’t come for me,” Michael accused, there were tears in his eyes now. “You told me you’d come and I believed you.”

“I couldn’t,” said Sara. “I had friends that were in danger. You were safe where you were. Come on, Michael, you know me. I’ve never lied to you.” She pointed to Thawne. “He’s lied to you. He always lies to you, about who you are, about where you came from and about why he wants you to kill me. I’m not a traitor, I’m your friend.”

The gun trembled for a second and then he subtly altered his aim, it was so slight that Sara wouldn’t have noticed except she was paying very close attention. He pulled the trigger and fired. The bullet hit Eobard Thawne in the shoulder before the speedster had realised what had happened, exactly what Michael had been aiming at. Thawne stumbled backwards, and Sara decided that it was time to take advantage of the distraction and go.

“You little bastard,” said Thawn, clutching at the wound. “I gave you everything and this is how you repay me.”

“You gave me nothing,” said Michael, “and, I’m not afraid of you anymore.” He looked over at Sara. “Because I have a friend.”

“Jax, grab the pieces of the reality gun,” shouted Sara. “We’re leaving. Michael, you’re with us.”

The boy smiled, and gave her a rather familiar incline of his head in reply, and the Legends ran.

Things got a little complicated after that. Jax and Ray fixed the reality gun, but because it had been damaged, it only had one shot left and then it would be pretty much useless without a new power supply. They decided to use the last shot on Michael, since he was with them and they had no idea if they could even get to Martin again.

“Will it hurt?” asked Michael, somewhat worriedly, as Sara tried to explain about a gun that would restore his memories of a different reality. The other Legends were standing nearby, but giving Sara and Michael a little space to talk.

“No, although it may feel a little weird to get all those memories back at once,” said Sara.

Michael nodded. “But I won’t forget anything?”

“I didn’t,” said Sara. “I still remember all that time we spent training, and visiting you in hospital.”

“Okay,” said Michael, and unexpectedly he wrapped Sara in a hug. “In case I don’t remember, thank you for everything that you did.” She hugged him back for a moment and then he stepped away from her a couple of steps and gave her a determined look. “I think I’m ready.”

She took the reality gun and aimed it at his head. The pink beam hit him and she could see the look of horror on his face as his memories returned.

“Oh bollocks,” were his first words, in a much more familiar accent. “I’m 12.” And then he collapsed to the ground, with a sigh, unconscious.

“Shit!” Sara exclaimed, and dropped to her knees as she felt for a pulse.

“What happened?” asked Ray. “None of the rest of us passed out.”

“None of you were an adult in a child’s body,” said Mick, which was actually a good point.

“I think he just fainted,” said Sara. “His pulse is a little fast, but it’s pretty strong.” She undid the collar of the uniform that he was wearing to give him a bit more air, and could see that there were fresh bruises on his collar bone. She let out an annoyed huff of air at the discovery, put her arms underneath his small body and lifted him onto the couch as gently as she could manage.

“Probably just shock then,” said Ray. “I didn’t calibrate the gun for a developing brain. Sorry, I should have thought of that, but he’ll be fine once his body reacclimatises.”

Sara nodded. “Nate, have you got a blanket?” Shock made people cold and a blanket would help. He was already shivering slightly. Sara was finding it a little difficult to see Rip Hunter and not Michael. Her brain was telling her that he was still a kid that needed her protection, and maybe he did to some extent even now he had his memory back.

Nate handed her the blanket and she draped it over Rip, tucking it around him. He started to stir about ten minutes later and blinked up at the concerned faces around him.

“Er, hello,” he said.

“Welcome back, Rip,” said Sara, with a smile.

“Sara,” he said, with relief. He looked down at himself, scooting up a little on the sofa, so that he rested on his elbows. “Well, this is unexpected. It appears Eobard decided to get creative with his torture.”

“I’ll say,” said Sara. “I’m sorry about what happened to you.”

“What happened to you?” asked Nate.

“Thawne was an enthusiastic advocate of corporal punishment,” said Rip.

“Oh,” said Nate, “sorry, dude, that sounds… bad.”

“It certainly wasn’t much fun,” said Rip. “But we need to tackle the problem at hand.”

Sara nodded. “Do you know where the Waverider is?”

Rip nodded in reply. “I do. It’s in my rucksack, over there.”

“What?” asked Ray.

Sara frowned but located the bag that Michael had brought with him, and opened the zip. She pulled out the toy spaceship inside. It was a miniaturized Waverider.

“Your Christmas present,” said Sara.

“I expect it gave Thawne a good laugh to give me my own ship as a present without me knowing what I’d got. Still, it has rather backfired on him. We just need to find Ray’s Atom suit and we’ll be home free,” said Rip.

“And then we can go back and fix this mess,” said Sara.

“I would very much like to not be 12 anymore,” said Rip.

“But Thawne destroyed the Spear,” said Nate.

“Then we’ll go back to where they stole the Spear and use it before they have the chance,” said Sara.

“Sara…” said Rip.

“Don’t tell me we can’t,” said Sara, “what we can’t do is let Doomworld carry on existing with Thawne, Merlyn and Darhk calling the shots.”

Rip just held up his hands in defeat. “You already know what I’m going to say. We risk breaking time itself.”

“Do you want to have to go through puberty again?” asked Sara.

“Not really,” admitted Rip. “But that is the least of my concerns right now.”

“Let’s just go get my suit,” said Ray. “We’ll be a lot safer in the temporal zone on the Waverider than here in Nate’s Mom’s basement.”

“Yeah, we can argue about where we go afterwards,” said Jax.

The others went to get ready, leaving Sara to help Rip up. She made sure that he took it slowly, getting into a sitting position first before he tried to stand.

“I saw you had fresh bruises,” said Sara. “Want to talk about it?”

Rip shook his head. “I’m not really 12 anymore, Sara. I don’t need your protection.”

“I know, but it’s not just 12 year olds that need friends and someone to talk to,” said Sara. “He turned you into a kid so that he could abuse you and indoctrinate you. That has to be worth a discussion at least.”

The young boy sighed in a very adult manner. “What do you want me to say? It was unpleasant. I was scared a lot of the time and he enjoyed hurting me, knowing that I couldn’t fight back effectively. But there was one bright point in my life and that was you, Sara. You were there for me when I needed a friend, and without you, I don’t know what I would have done. You have my eternal gratitude.” He leaned forwards and placed a gentle kiss on Sara’s forehead, just as she’d done with him in the hospital.

“Hey, it’s what friends do,” said Sara, giving him a smile. He looked so small and vulnerable sat on the sofa, blanket across his legs. She couldn’t help herself, she knew he wasn’t Michael anymore, but she wrapped him in her arms and hugged him.

“You know, you did do something else,” said Rip, who had rested his head on her shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“I’m quite capable of dodging a punch now, thanks to your excellent tutelage,” he said.

Sara chuckled. That was definitely something that Rip had needed to improve upon. She released him from the embrace.

“Good. It’s about time you learnt how to do that. Now, let’s go end this.”

The Legends headed out to get their ship back and fix what Eobard Thawne had broken.

***

Recovering the Waverider turned out to be the easy part. Getting the Spear was going to be far more difficult, because now they had to dodge their past selves. Then there was the added complication of having a 12-year-old team member.

“You’re not coming,” said Sara. She’d cleared the bridge, not wanting to do this in front of the others.

“What?” asked Rip. He was still wearing his guard uniform because it was the only thing he had that fitted him. They’d have to get Gideon to fabricate him something else in an appropriate size because having a mini Thawne security guard in their midst was a little disconcerting.

“There weren’t any kids on the battlefield,” said Sara.

“Well, that’s debateable,” said Rip. “Have you seen how young some of those boys are?”

“Yes, but none of them are 12!” shouted Sara.

“But I’m not 12!” Rip shouted back. The higher pitch of his voice made him sound petulant rather than properly angry. “I’m not Michael, Sara. I don’t need you to look after me anymore!”

“That isn’t the point. You’ll stick out like a sore thumb. Ray and I can handle this without you. It’ll be simple. No one even knows we’ll be there,” replied Sara. “We should have done it like this the first time.”

“Thawne knows,” pointed out Rip.

“Then we’ll deal with him,” said Sara.

Rip threw his hands up in the air in the most Rip-like gesture that his 12-year-old self could make. Sara stifled a giggle. Sometimes she couldn’t fail to be amused at their 12-year-old Time Master.

“Fine, you’re the Captain, do as you wish,” replied Rip, clearly annoyed.

“Hey,” she said, closing the gap between them. “It’ll be okay.”

“I really hope so,” said Rip. “You are important to me, Sara, and I fear that my time as Michael has made that more obvious. I need you and I don’t want to lose you.”

Sara sighed. “I promise we’ll be careful, and we’ll be back with the blood of Christ in no time.”

Rip looked down at his feet. “See that you are, Sara, see that you are.”

She knew that he was concerned and neither of them could pretend that their life in Doomworld hadn’t affected them. She wouldn’t admit it to Rip, but she was finding it hard not to feel more protective towards him than she normally did. She suspected that he was feeling something new towards her too. A deeper friendship had developed between Sara and Michael than they’d had before and now they were back on the Waverider, they’d both had to adjust.

In a very un-Rip-like gesture he threw his arms around her, squeezed her in a rapid hug, and then did his best to stride off the bridge as his adult self had done on many an occasion. Sara was slightly in shock, but once again found herself amused by his adult mannerisms. She took a deep breath and went to find Ray.

Unfortunately, Rip was right and Thawne had anticipated their move to retrieve the blood of Christ. It had all seemed to be going well at first. Ray had successfully negotiated the battlefield and reached the place where the blood was buried. Then Sara watched as Thawne sped into view, said a few words, and put his hand into Ray’s chest and pulled out his heart. Without a thought, she dashed onto the battlefield intent on ending Thawne for what he’d just done. The only thing she felt was the rapid gust of wind that rushed past her as Eobard Thawne ended her life.

***

The bridge of the Waverider was silent. Mick had found the bodies of their friends, retrieved them and brought them home. They were both missing their hearts, plucked from their bodies and discarded. Even Gideon couldn’t bring them back from that.

Rip had cried, his 12-year-old self taking over and remembering everything that Sara had meant to him during his miserable year as Eobard Thawne’s son. He grieved for Ray too, but Michael hadn’t been comforted by Ray in a hospital bed or been given jelly beans by him for a job well done. Then he had remembered that he wasn’t Michael, he was Rip Hunter and Sara was not really dead. This Sara was gone, but there was another Sara who desperately needed his help.

“So what?” said Mick, apparently agreeing with him. “Haircut said it himself. We’re all aberrations living on borrowed time. Besides they’re alive and well in 1916.”

“You’re right,” said Rip. “The mission hasn’t changed.”

“Except we can’t destroy the Spear because we don’t have the blood of Christ,” said Nate.

“We don’t need to destroy it. We just need to use it,” he told Jax, Mick and Nate.

He would break all the rules of time travel to fix this if he had to. Some things couldn’t be allowed to stand no matter the cost. It was time to be the Captain again and this time he’d do a better job.

“But the other us-es have the Spear,” Nate pointed out.

“Then we’ll go to the Waverider and get it while we’re at the church in Amiens,” said Rip. “Thus dealing with the problem of meeting ourselves.”

“Huh, never stole anything from myself before. It could be interesting,” said Mick.

“Now, that sounds like a plan,” said Jax, with enthusiasm.

“I suggest you hurry,” said Gideon. “Events are already in motion. Mr Rory’s earlier self is currently being contacted by Mr Snart.”

“And if we’re going to be impersonating ourselves then…” said Nate.

“You’re going to need a haircut,” finished Rip. “And I’m going to have to stay out of sight. Perhaps Jax and I had best wait outside.”

“We’ll need someone to deal with Gideon,” said Mick, “or she’ll give the game away.”

“You know the Waverider better than anyone,” said Jax. “I bet you could sneak around without anyone seeing you, especially now that you’re small.”

Rip nodded. “Okay, I’ll come on board the Waverider with the rest of you.”

Rip should have known that no plan survives contact with the enemy, or in this case Sara Lance. She’d bumped into Nate and Mick in the corridor and they’d offered up their terrible excuses and headed off to do what they needed to. However, it was Rip who had completely screwed up the entire thing by trying to make use of one of the crawlspaces to get to the Engine Room.

Sara had been walking down the corridor and she’d somehow heard him. Assassins had good ears it seemed. She went over to grate that he was passing and tapped on it, like she was knocking on a door.

“Come on, out of there, whoever you are,” she said. “You’re making enough noise to wake the dead.”

Rip kicked open the grate, knowing better than to carry on now that he’d been spotted. At least he wasn’t wearing the guard’s uniform anymore. Gideon had fabricated him something closer to what he usually wore but in a smaller size. Unfortunately, his beloved coat no longer fit him, and he thought a smaller version would just look ridiculous, so Gideon had made him a reasonable facsimile of his leather jacket.

He squirmed out through the hole in the wall and stood face to face with Sara. He very nearly lost his composure in that moment, keeping himself together by the barest of margins. As anticipated, he also found himself pushed up against a wall with a knife at his throat, and whilst he now knew six moves to get out of this thanks to her older self’s tuition, he didn’t want to.

“Who the hell are you?” she asked.

“Uh, hello, Sara,” he said, trying to keep as still as possible. “I’m afraid that this is going to be quite difficult to explain, but it’s me, Rip.”

Sara laughed. “Oh, come on, you don’t look anything like him and you’re, what, thirteen?”

“Twelve actually,” he corrected. “Look, I’m from a future where Eobard Thawne got the Spear and used it. He turned me into a younger version of myself for his own amusement, but we came back here to get the Spear and put everything right.”

There was a slight flicker in Sara’s eyes and he knew she was considering believing him. She was looking him up and down as if she was trying to see the man within the boy.

“Prove it,” she said. “Tell me something that only Rip would know.”

“You once told me to open a door with my mind,” said Rip, and the reaction was immediate.

“You really are him,” she said, with disbelief. “Rip? What the hell?”

She backed off, putting the knife away.

“Well, this is awkward, not to mention dangerous,” said Rip. “We can’t meet ourselves.”

“Or you’ll break time?” asked Sara.

“Exactly,” said Rip.

“What was your plan?”

“Er, to steal the Spear whilst our counterparts were at the church,” said Rip.

“Ah,” she said, with sudden understanding. “That was why Nate and Mick looked so shifty.”

“Yes, sorry about the deception, but it was the only way we could come up with of putting this right,” said Rip.

“I sent you to do this?” she asked.

Rip looked downwards. “Actually, I’m responsible for this one. You didn’t make it. I’m sorry.”

Sara took a deep breath and let it out. “Well, that hasn’t happened yet, and it doesn’t have to. So, what do we do now?”

“Well, you could let us steal the Spear,” said Rip, looking up at Sara again.

“You know that’s not going to happen,” said Sara. “We haven’t protected the Spear this long just to hand it over to our future selves, at least not without a discussion.”

“Then you use it and put everything back to how it was,” said Rip.

“And what happens to you when I do that?” she asked, smart as always.

“We’re aberrations, we fade away,” said Rip. “But we knew that when we started this. It was always a one way journey for us.”

“You realise how messed up that sounds coming from a 12-year-old,” said Sara.

“I do have some idea, yes, but it’s the truth,” replied Rip.

“Well, since it looks like we’ve screwed the pooch on this one, get the rest of you team together and meet me on the bridge,” said Sara.

“Very well, Captain,” replied Rip with a sigh. He did as Sara asked and called the remains of his team to come to the bridge.

***

Nate stared at Amaya like he was about to burst into tears at any moment. Rip realised that he was looking at Sara in the same way and had to consciously stop himself. He’d nearly broken again as Martin had asked why some of their team were missing.

“Dead, dead, dead, as good as dead,” proclaimed Mick, with his usual bluntness.

Rip knew that he wasn’t 12, but his body was that of a child and his emotions definitely seemed to be Michael’s right now. He wanted to yell at Mick to shut up, but was able to restrain himself. Rather than weep openly on the bridge, he excused himself, walking quickly down the corridors of the Waverider before curling up in the cargo bay. It was his younger self who came to find him, because of course, he’d know where he’d go.

“Michael?” he asked, as if he really was 12.

He shook his head. “I was for a while, but no, I’m Rip. I’m not actually 12, I just look like it. My brain sometimes seems to think that I’m a child still though. Hence the tears.”

“Well, I confess that this is one of the stranger experiences of my life,” said his younger self, taking a seat on the floor beside him.

“You should try being me.” He didn’t need to look at his own face to see the agreement there.

“What happened to you? I understand that the Spear made you younger, but why? Why would Thawne do that?”

“To hurt and humiliate me, mainly,” said Rip. “Luckily Sara was there for me, otherwise things would have been much worse. You can add child abuse to his list of crimes.”

“I see,” he replied, and Rip knew that they were both remembering the portion of his childhood before he’d been rescued by the Time Masters and brought to the Refuge. It hadn’t been pleasant. “I’m sorry that this happened to you and your team. That you lost people.”

“You do realise that you’re apologising to yourself,” said Rip, wiping away tears. “Your mistakes are my mistakes, and we have made quite a few this time.”

“I know,” replied his younger self. “But I also know that you’re here to set things right.”

“I lost my Sara,” he said, tears leaking from his eyes again. “I’ll do everything I can to stop you from losing yours.”

“Thank you,” replied the other Rip.

“I know what you’re planning when all this is over,” he added. “I know that you’re going to leave them, despite what Sara said.”

His younger self gave him a look. “And you’ve changed your mind, have you? Which means that you think I should change mine?”

“I just know what it’s like to have a friend and lose her,” said Rip. “Sara’s here now, on the Waverider, and I can’t believe that you’re even considering leaving whilst she needs you.”

The other Rip laughed. “Sara Lance doesn’t need anyone.”

“Neither of us actually believe that,” replied Rip, with scorn. “You’re basically lying to yourself now. And as I said, I’ve already failed my Sara. This is your chance to be better. Be better than I was and keep her safe, like she kept me safe from Thawne.”

“I’ll… I’ll think about it,” he said. Which both of them knew meant that he would stay.

“And get her to teach you how to block,” he said, with a slight smile.

“Right,” said the other Rip, “I have been meaning to get to that.”

***

The final fight for the Spear was chaos. Rip’s older team of Legends fell one by one until only he remained, pistol in hand. They had no powers, so they were easier to pick off than their younger selves. Every loss was a wrench, but he knew he was on borrowed time now.

One of Thawne’s time remnants came at him and he sidestepped, using the speedster’s own momentum against him as he caught him and tripped him. Sara had taught him a lot about how being small could be useful, and he was so glad that she had.

“Who taught you that?” she asked.

“You did,” he said, and smiled. He thought that finally in that moment she understood what his Sara had meant to him.

The Legends stood around their Captain, protecting her while she began the incantation to use the Spear. Sara was struggling though.

“Just do it, Sara,” said the younger Rip.

“I can’t. There’s too much darkness inside me. I can’t control it.”

“I believe in you. You’re stronger than you know,” said his younger self, his eyes holding a deep sincerity. She really was the best person to do this. He wished that he could take this burden from her, but both he and his younger counterpart agreed that the Spear should never be put in his hands. Her darkness was nothing as compared to his.

The younger team of Legends fell, as Eobard took them down and Rip felt the speedster slam into him. Then darkness claimed him as he fell back, stunned by the blow. He came around only moments later to see the Black Flash disintegrate Eobard Thawne and the Spear. The team all stood there, uninjured and whole again.

“You did it,” he said to Sara, smiling as he got to his feet.

“I had some help,” she replied, with a glance at her Rip.

He felt it then, the start of his unravelling. He ran at her, and hugged her hard. He had barely seconds left. He took a step back away from her, so that he could take her in one last time, and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“I will miss you, Sara Lance, but I shall not lose hope that, wherever I am going, my Sara is waiting there for me,” he said.

He looked around at the team, and knew what he had to say. His toes were disappearing.

“My time is over: it is no longer my task to set things to rights, nor to help folk to do so. And as for you, my dear friends, you will need no help… I have no longer any fear at all for any of you.”

And he faded away, with a smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rip's quoting Gandalf from Tolkien here at the end, because really what else would it be?


	4. Amaya and the Hunter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amaya was a professional, and she'd met a lot of killers in her time. However, Thawne's sniper was not what she expected at all.
> 
> Warnings: Evil!Rip kills a lot of people, Character death (but only temporarily because this is Doomworld)

* * *

 

Of all the vigilantes and heroes that they’d chased down, the Hawks were the most annoying. Kendra Saunders and Carter Hall worked together and were also lovers, wearing ridiculous hawk helmets whilst they fought. They knew each other’s moves and worked together so flawlessly that Amaya often wondered if they had some degree of telepathy. Sara had assured her that wasn’t the case.

Amaya was beginning to take their losses against the Hawks personally when they had them cornered in the warehouse and, somehow, they managed to slip through their grasp again. She was about to run after them but Sara stopped her.

“It’s okay, I brought reinforcements this time,” said her partner. “The Hunter will get them.”

Amaya watched the two Hawks making a run for it down the fire escape of the warehouse, and then two shots rang out. First Kendra and then Carter fell down, and as Amaya got closer she could see a hole in each of their necks, straight through their spines. That was a hard shot to make, and although a head shot would have been a more guaranteed way to kill, their hawk helmets would have made that impossible. So whoever had done this had picked another way to kill his targets. Not that this would be a quick death for them. Still, Amaya didn’t care as long as the job got done.

She turned to look for where the bullet had come from and caught the glint of a gun sight. She looked over at her partner.

“That was quite the shot. Who is that?” she asked Sara.

“No idea, he’s one of Thawne’s. They just call him The Hunter. Apparently, he has a perfect kill record and he’s taken down scores of Thawne’s enemies,” said Sara, with a smile.

Both Amaya and Sara enjoyed their work and could appreciate the skill of The Hunter. Sara’s phone rang and she put it on speaker.

“I trust you’re satisfied with my work,” said a voice with an English accent. For just a second Amaya thought she knew who it was, but then the moment was gone.

“Very,” said Sara. “Thanks for the assist.”

“My pleasure. Mr Thawne was all too happy to help Mr Darhk with his continuing crusade to rid the world of do-gooders. Until the next time, Miss Lance, Miss Jiwe.”

“Until the next time,” said Sara, with a smile, and the connection dropped with a beep.

“I hope the boss won’t be upset that he didn’t get to kill them himself this time,” said Amaya.

“I’m pretty sure he’ll be okay with it if we take him their helmets, and our sniper friend kindly left them completely intact for the trophy cabinet,” said Sara, heading towards the dead Hawks with a spring in her step.

“I’ll call in the clean-up crew,” said Amaya, pulling out her phone.

She didn’t think much more about the encounter until sometime later. She was waiting for Sara to arrive, and stood in the reception area for Mr Dahrk’s office. The door hadn’t closed properly and she could hear a discussion going on inside. She moved a little, so that she was just a bit closer to the door and able to hear better.

“I work for Eobard, Damien. That was the deal. He got me, I got my lack of conscience back, and you got the trouble twins,” said a familiar voice.

“But you have to admit that your talents are somewhat wasted in Central City,” replied Damien, “and you’re not exactly like the other Legends, are you? Thawne gave you the choice. You could have had a nice amnesiac life like the rest of your team, but you chose this.”

“Yes, well, we both know what kind of a choice my more sentimental alter ego saw that as,” replied the voice. “Still, it’s good to be back, whatever the circumstances. You have no idea how glad I am that self-righteous idiot has been put to death once again, this time for good. But that really isn’t the point is it? You’ve got more than enough man power to take down the remaining vigilantes.”

“Yes, and Thawne’s already dealt with his fair share, but I’m more concerned about what happens when we have no more worlds to conquer,” said Darhk.

“Ah, I see, this isn’t actually about me lending my services to your ongoing war for Star City, it’s about me joining your side on a more permanent basis,” replied the voice. “Against my current employer.”

“You were always sharp, Hunter,” said Darhk. Well that explained why she recognised the voice; Darhk was talking to the Hunter.

“And you’re an idiot if you think that Thawne hasn’t already considered every plan that you’ve come up with,” said the Hunter.

“That’s why I need an inside man,” said Darhk.

“So, I get to put myself in danger for your benefit? No thank you,” replied the Hunter.

“What if I offered to use the Spear to bring back your wife?” asked Darhk. “Once it’s in my possession, of course.”

There was a pause. “If I do join you, what guarantee do I have that you’ll do as you say?”

“It’s all a matter of trust, isn’t it?” said Darhk. “You don’t turn me into Thawne and I do you a favour. It really isn’t much, bringing back one more person from the dead. The power of the Spear is infinite and I can’t help but feel that Eobard has been disappointingly unimaginative with some of his choices.”

“And how do your other partners feel about this?”

“No idea,” said Darhk. “I haven’t discussed it with them.”

“You’re planning to cut them out too? I admire your nerve, Damien, if nothing else.”

“Oh please, Snart’s a jumped-up petty thief, his partner’s barely one step above a deaf mute, and Malcolm’s a failed has been. None of them has a chance against me now that I have my magic back,” said Darhk. “Thawne’s the only one who stands in the way of me conquering this world and making it my own.”

“When you put it that way, I can see your point,” said the Hunter. “Very well, I’ll bite. You give me my wife and somewhere that I can safely retire with my family, in return I’ll help you defeat Thawne. What you do with the world after that is your business.”

“I knew you’d see sense,” said Darhk, “I’ll be in touch. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I do still have a few members of the original Team Arrow to hunt down.”

“Of course, I’ll see myself out.”

Amaya took a couple of steps away from the office, so that it wouldn’t seem like she’d been listening. The door opened and a tall man walked out, he had a neatly trimmed beard and short, light brown hair, with green eyes. He was wirily built, and wore a pair of black, lace-up combat boots, and black combat pants, a black shirt, with a long black coat over it all that went to his ankles. He had a handgun strapped to his right thigh and he carried a long case on his back with a single strap diagonally across his chest.

Finally, she had got to see the Hunter, and he wasn’t exactly what she’d been expecting. Given his kill rate, she’d expected someone more seasoned and quite frankly, less well manicured. He noticed that she was looking at him and he gave her a nod.

“Miss Jiwe,” he said.

She frowned. “You know me?”

A slow smile spread across his lips. “By reputation if nothing else.”

“I recognise your voice. You’re the Hunter. Thanks for your help with the Hawks the other night,” she said. “Where did you learn to shoot like that?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” said the Hunter. “But mainly through a considerable amount of practice.”

“That must take some discipline,” replied Amaya.

“No more than your hand to hand expertise does, I expect,” replied the Hunter.

Amaya gave him a nod and a slight smile of her own. It was nice to be acknowledged as a professional.

“Until next time, Miss Jiwe,” he said, and he left the room, one hand on the strap across his chest and his coat flowing around his ankles as he walked. Amaya watched him go.

Sara arrived moments later and the two of them went into Mr Darhk’s office to see what their next assignment would bring.

***

Rip Hunter had always been good with guns. At the Time Master academy he’d been top of his class when it came to marksmanship, better even than Miranda and there weren’t many things that he could say that about. However, the Time Masters had been needlessly sentimental when it came to actually using guns. You weren’t supposed to shoot people unless it was the last resort, and when he’d been the old Rip Hunter, the emotional fool had believed that too.

These days he was more pragmatic. Eobard Thawne paid him rather well to shoot whoever he was told to. He had a very nice house in Central City and a very healthy bank account. Unfortunately, when you killed people for a living you did tend to accrue a few enemies, and one of those enemies was currently hunting him. The irony of his nom de guerre was not lost on him given the reversal in roles.

Instead of being at home enjoying a nice glass of rum and reading a good book by the fire, he was out here in the dark and the rain, hiding from a group of very angry people. This was what happened when you pissed off the Bratva by killing one of their Captains. Of course, if Thawne had told him that’s who he was killing then Rip would have taken more precautions, but the speedster pleaded ignorance on the true nature of his victim. Thawne had just thought he was an ordinary Russian businessman, but Rip wasn’t at all sure whether he believed that. This had all the hallmarks of a setup. However, he would deal with that once he wasn’t running for his life.

Thawne had also not been helpful when it came to assistance in evading his pursuers. He’d suggested that now wasn’t the time to take on the Bratva and Rip would have completely agreed with him if he hadn’t found himself their target. Besides, Eobard Thawne could not be seen to be acting against the Bratva, he still had to maintain appearances even if he was now basically the most powerful man alive. Rip thought that he’d only kept a lot of these things around so that he had something to amuse himself with.

It certainly wasn’t the first time he’d been abandoned by his boss, but then he’d never been under any illusions that Thawne would take care of him. He was simply one of several spoils of war that had been meted out between the four members of the Legion of Doom. If Thawne really wanted to then he could easily send him back to being simpering, foolish, caring Rip Hunter rather than his current ruthless self. And Rip preferred his present persona, there was less hurt, guilt, grief, and angst to deal with.

He saw movement out of the corner of his eye and realised that he was being followed. Actually, he’d been followed ever since he got off the plane from his last job, but they’d kept their distance before. This was rather closer now. If he hadn’t been paying close attention then he wouldn’t have even realised, but he was looking out for Bratva members and they weren’t that great at hiding when you knew what to look for.

He turned into an alleyway, needing to get off the main street. He pulled his pistol from its holster at his thigh. It was comforting to have it in his hand. His rifle was in its case on his back, but it was too unwieldy for this situation. Rifles were for when you had time to find a perch and pick off the enemy.

A shot rang out from the alleyway and hit the brickwork beside him. He needed to move if he was going to survive this. There were a number of empty office blocks in this area and any one of them would make a reasonable venue for a game of “take out the Bratva”. He just needed to gain access and then he’d stand a chance of making it through this alive. He ran down the alley, dodging behind a dumpster as more shots were fired. He aimed at the movement and fired back. There was a yelp of pain as one of his bullets found their mark, an unexpected bonus given the poor lighting conditions.

He took the last few steps to the side door into the building. There was little point in being subtle at this stage, they already knew he was here. He shot the lock and kicked the door free of the bolt with one fluid motion. The streetlight briefly outlined him in the doorway and illuminated the mess of old desks and filing cabinets within. He made his way inside swiftly but not panicked, he could deal with a few Bratva soldiers. The main issue was their numbers not their skill.

This was better, he had the advantage here. They would come to him now. It also had the advantage of being out of the cold and wet. He strode across the floor, overturning desks as he went, and headed for the central staircase with its glass barrier and metal banister. He looked around himself, getting the lie of the land, and then he heard them as they entered, crunching on broken glass. They weren’t exactly light footed, but they didn’t need to be. He put the stairs at his back and ducked down behind the final overturned desk, as a bullet flew through the air. He’d have preferred to have been at the top of the stairs with a barricade in front of him and a wall behind him, but they’d been closer than he’d thought.

He aimed carefully, letting them put themselves in his sights. His handgun wasn’t as accurate as his rifle, but it was faster and quicker to reload. Besides, Rip was still more accurate with a handgun than most people were with a rifle. He got two with rapid headshots and ducked back down before they could return fire. A rain of bullets thumped into the desk he was using as cover, shredding it and making it useless as protection. He took a further two down, one with another headshot but the second he caught in the shoulder. He cursed vociferously. He needed to move, this position was no longer safe.

He pushed himself up, put his head down and ran for the stairs. Automatic weapons fire followed him, but his planning had paid off, and the gap between the stairs and the desk was too short for them to hit him. The darkness was his friend here as his dashed up the stairs, bullets cracking the glass panels of the stairs and the flashes telling him that there were eight men still firing at him. That wasn’t so bad. He could handle eight.

He didn’t fire back, if he couldn’t aim then he’d miss and that would just waste bullets. In this situation, he needed every single one to be a kill shot. He turned the corner of the stairs and ran up the final steps to come out at the top, coat flapping behind him. He could see the fire exit across the other side of the floor, and he headed towards it. He had to press himself against a pillar as the Bratva made it up the stairs, and opened fire. They were hardly bothering with cover, so another three shots took down three more before they thought to duck behind a desk. Five left.

The fire door on the other side of the room was flung open and ten more men poured out, and suddenly Rip realised that he’d underestimated how many men were actually chasing him. He’d picked twelve out of the shadows, but he hadn’t seen the other ten. He’d been flanked and they’d cut off his escape route. He shifted around the pillar, trying to get a look at the new arrivals and any possibility of cover. The only thing that was really keeping him alive at the moment was the fact that the darkness was hiding him, but every muzzle flash from his gun gave away his location.

He flung himself out from his location and rolled into new cover behind an abandoned leather couch. He felt a bullet fly past his head and a sharp sting as one connected with his shoulder, luckily it was on his left side. He took the opportunity to fire back and he thought he took down a couple more, the pain in his shoulder had distracted him momentarily from an accurate count.

He took a moment to examine the wound and looked down at the large hole in his left shoulder. It was bleeding profusely. This had been his favourite coat too. The important thing was that the bullet hadn’t nicked an artery, and only a normal amount of blood was oozing from the wound. Unfortunately, he didn’t have time to stop and deal with it, because the Bratva were advancing again.

He fired. This time he missed all his headshots and succeeded only in wounding one in the leg. They’d become more sensible about staying out of his range, whilst they had automatic weapons that sprayed bullets across the room and would still kill him from further away. He would need to move again. By his count, he still had twelve men to deal with. He left his cover and ran back towards the main stairs, slamming himself flat behind another pillar, but not before he felt a second bullet hit him in the side. It was just below his ribs on his right side, and he knew without a doubt that he needed to get out of here now.

He ejected the spent magazine from his handgun and, ignoring the pain in his shoulder, loaded a new one. He fired again, another two were down as they’d tried to sneak up on him. They should have known better by now. The only way they were going to take him down was if they all attacked at once.

“Give it up, Hunter,” said a thickly accented voice. “You’re outnumbered and no one is coming to rescue you. Better to have a good death than hiding in the shadows like a coward.”

Rip didn’t reply. He was quite happy hiding in the shadows if it kept him alive, and he wasn’t going to shout out and reveal his position, that was idiocy.

However, there was the sound of the fire escape door slamming open and another voice spoke. It was female and somehow familiar. “Actually, someone has come to rescue him.”

Then there was further gunfire, and Rip was happy to take advantage of the chaos to deal with a few more of his attackers. When the bullets had stopped flying, he cautiously stepped out from behind the pillar and was confronted with the black clad form of Miss Jiwe, Damien Darhk's assassin.

Rip leaned against the pillar. He was losing blood and beginning to feel it.

“Thank you for the assistance, Miss Jiwe,” he said, pressing a hand to his side as he holstered his gun. “How did you come to know I needed it?”

“Mr Darhk became aware that a number of Bratva were looking for you and converging on this location,” said Amaya. “I was in the area. He sent me to help out.”

“Please, thank Mr Darhk for me,” said Rip. “Now, I really must be going.” He went to move away from the pillar and stumbled slightly.

“You’re injured,” said Amaya, with realisation. She stepped over the dead body at her feet and jogged to his side.

“There were a few more of them than I’d thought,” replied Rip.

“I need to get you to a hospital,” said Amaya.

“No,” said Rip, quickly. “There are going to be more Bratva out there and the first place they’ll look is the hospital. I also really don’t want to have to explain a couple of bullet wounds to the police.”

“Okay, where then?” asked Amaya.

“Have you got a vehicle?” he asked.

“Yes, parked outside,” she confirmed.

“Take me home,” he said. “I have everything that I need there.”

“If you’re sure…” said Amaya, clearly not convinced that she should be allowing this.

“I am,” replied Rip.

Without being asked, the woman put Rip’s good arm over her shoulder and helped him to walk back down the stairs and from the building. Each step was excruciatingly painful as it jarred both his side and shoulder. It was still raining as they emerged onto the street, the cold water helping to bring Rip more sharply to his senses. Outside the old office block was parked a sleek black sports car.

“Yours?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Don’t get blood on my seats,” she said as she lowered Rip into the passenger seat.

“Yes, that is definitely one of my major concerns right now,” spat back Rip.

Amaya got into the driver’s seat and started the engine. “Where to?” she asked.

Rip guided her through the streets. It wasn’t that far to the rather nicer neighbourhood where his house was, but he was feeling every bump. The blood loss was also taking its toll, but he needed to hang on for a little longer.

“Third on the left, with the iron gate. Code to open it is 1138,” said Rip.

Amaya turned the car into the driveway, and typed the code into the pad for the wrought iron gate. It swung open and she parked up on the driveway, the gate automatically clanging shut behind her. The house was large, with stone cladding and a gothic look to it. Rip had taken an instant liking to it when he’d seen it. It wasn’t particularly close to anywhere useful, which suited him fine. He preferred out of the way.

Amaya came around to the passenger side, pulled open the door and helped Rip out. It took all his strength to get up and stand. The short flight of steps up to the front door was more exertion than he really wanted at this point. He handed Amaya the key and she opened the door.

“Your security could use an upgrade,” said Amaya. “I could break into this place in ten seconds flat.”

 “Oh, I pity anyone who tries to enter this house without my authority,” said Rip.

A dark haired woman strode into the red carpeted hallway, as silently as a spider. Rip smiled at the new arrival.

“Mr Hunter,” said Talia al Ghul, “I wasn’t aware you were bringing a guest home.”

“Talia, this is Miss Jiwe,” said Rip, noting her stance. She would have killed Amaya in a heartbeat if he’d told her to. He liked that quality about her.

“Miss Jiwe,” Talia acknowledged, with a nod of her head. She turned her attention back to Rip. “And you’ve been shot. I’ll get the medical bag. Will you be able to manage the stairs?”

Rip nodded. “With a little help. If Miss Jiwe doesn’t mind?”

“I’ve got orders to keep you alive, so if this is what keeps you alive…”

“Noted,” said Rip.

They headed towards the wide, dark wood stairs while Talia went to collect the medical kit. It took them a bit of time to make it to the top and Rip was worn out when he finally reached the landing. He was taking something of a risk by bringing Amaya here, but he really hadn’t had much choice in the matter.

“Second door on the left,” he huffed out, breathlessly. Just a few more steps and he could rest.

They entered his room. It was furnished with heavy, dark wood furniture and carefully selected furnishings in shades of dark green. Everything had a place and everything was in its place. The bed had large wooden head and foot boards, carved with intricate patterns of leaves and foxes chasing rabbits.

Amaya helped him to sit on the edge of the bed and remove his coat and boots. She was more gentle than he’d expected, carefully peeling the garment away from his damaged shoulder.

Talia arrived moments later. She examined the wound whilst Rip tried not to pass out.

“The shoulder’s a straight through,” she said, and turned her attention to his side, checking his back for an exit wound. He was already aware that she wouldn’t find one. “Looks like you weren’t so lucky with the one in your side.”

Talia looked at Amaya. “Get me the towels from the bathroom.” She pointed towards the door to the bathroom and Amaya nodded, not seeming to mind the lack of pleasantries.

“Did you forget how to take cover?” asked Talia.

“I forgot how to count,” said Rip. “There were more of them than I thought. Luckily Miss Jiwe was there to bail me out.”

“She’s one of Darhk’s,” said Talia, and the implication was clear that she wasn’t to be trusted. “I thought Darhk didn’t do rescues.”

“Apparently he made an exception. Darhk and I appear to have an understanding,” replied Rip. “And I’m honestly more concerned about the fact that Eobard failed to mention that my target was a Bratva Captain.”

“You think he set you up,” said Talia, as she helped Rip unbutton his shirt and take it off.

“I’d put money on it,” replied Rip. “I’m trying to decide if he’s just trying to kill me because he doesn’t like me in general, or if he’s worked out that I’m passing information back to Darhk.”

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

“I don’t know. My instincts are telling me to run, but if I do that then I’ll never get Miranda back,” said Rip.

“So, you carry on as if nothing happened?” asked Talia.

“Or I throw my lot in with Damien and accept the consequences of that,” said Rip, wincing as Talia peeled the material away from the wound in his side.

“Which would be?”

“All-out war between the members of the Legion probably,” said Rip. “I’d be breaking one of the rules of their deal. And that is not a world that I want my son to live in.”

Amaya returned with the towels and Talia spread one out on the bed. He tried to lie down gracefully, but in fact he slumped downwards, the pain and blood loss definitely getting to him. Talia was taking a syringe out of the medical kit and drawing up a dose of painkiller.

“Not so much,” said Rip.

“That’s barely enough to take the edge off,” said Talia. “I need to probe for a bullet and stitch you up.”

“Enemy at the gates,” said Rip. “I need to be sharp.”

Talia removed the syringe from the bottle of analgesic. She stabbed him in the shoulder with the needle with rather more force than Rip really deemed necessary. He gave her an annoyed look, but she was ignoring him. She thought he was being stupid and he might agree with her when she began to probe for the bullet. Talia handed Amaya a couple of bulky bandages, and then began setting out her medical instruments on a sterile cloth.

“Apply pressure to the shoulder wound, one underneath and the other on top,” said Talia.

Amaya nodded. “This is going to hurt. Sorry.”

Rip didn’t have a chance to express an opinion about that because Amaya moved to put the bandage under his shoulder and then pressed down on the wound. As predicted, it hurt a lot.

“Not as much as this is,” said Talia, as she shoved a pair of forceps into the bullet wound in his side. He groaned and then yelped as her probing hit the metal of the bullet.

“Is that totally necessary?” asked Rip.

“Yes, now, keep the noise down,” replied Talia, as she manoeuvred the forceps, gripped the bullet and pulled. “You’re the one who insisted on minimal painkillers.”

Rip grimaced, he felt slightly nauseous and dizzy. That was the blood loss, although the pain wasn’t helping.

“Is there someone else here?” asked Amaya.

“No one that concerns you,” replied Rip, trying to ignore the stabbing, tugging pain as Talia dragged the bullet out of his abdomen. He tried to breathe through it, but it wasn’t exactly working.

“You should have gone to the hospital,” said Amaya.

“Talia can handle it,” said Rip.

“I handle everything else,” she said, with her usual cynicism.

“Not everything,” groaned Rip, as the bullet finally came free and Talia pressed down hard with a bandage. She dropped the bullet onto a towel. He bit down on a scream, and turned it into another groan.

“You’re bleeding like a son of a bitch,” said Talia.

“Did it nick an artery?” asked Amaya.

“No, it would be much worse if it had,” replied Talia, “but I need to get this bleeding under control.”

Rip could see black edges encroaching upon his vision. “Talia…” he began, there was a rushing sound in his ears. The black was narrowing his vision and he felt himself fading out. “Don’t let him see me like this…” he managed, but then he was gone.

***

Amaya looked at Talia. “Who’s he talking about?”

The Hunter had passed out. His skin was pale and a shiver passed through him.

“That’s none of your business,” said Talia, her focus was on dealing with the bleeding.

“I get the impression that this isn’t the first time that he’s stumbled back here with a bullet hole in him,” said Amaya.

“Thawne doesn’t send him after the easy targets,” replied Talia. “There’s no point in keeping a ruthless killer on the payroll otherwise.”

“He has quite the reputation,” said Amaya.

“So do you, Amaya Jiwe,” said Talia. “Damien Darhk’s campaign to deal with his enemies has been very affective and it hasn’t gone unnoticed.” She cleaned the wound, packed it, and dressed it. “I can’t stitch this yet. Let’s have a look at the shoulder.”

“I should have taken him to the hospital,” said Amaya. “He needs a blood transfusion.”

“I can do that. We keep a couple of pints in the fridge for moments like this,” replied Talia. “He tends to think about the future a lot. He plans.”

“It doesn’t always work though. Like tonight,” said Amaya.

“Even he can’t predict everything,” said Talia. “He’s going to need a couple of days to get over this and someone to run interference with the Bratva.”

“He’s going to need more than a couple of days,” said Amaya.

“He’ll be up and about, pretending to be well, in a couple of days,” said Talia. “He never shows weakness if it can be helped. I’m sure, given your employer, that you understand why.”

“Who are you?” asked Amaya.

“I’m the help,” said Talia.

“Help with what?” asked Amaya.

“Whatever is required,” said Talia, threading a needle. She began stitching the wound. The Hunter flinched slightly, and moaned, even in unconsciousness this clearly hurt. “Go downstairs to the kitchen and get a unit of blood from the fridge in the pantry. It’s at the end of the corridor on the left. I think we’re going to need it.”

Amaya nodded. She hadn’t lied about her orders. Darhk had been quite clear. They needed the Hunter and it was up to her to render any assistance he needed to deal with his Bratva problem. She headed out of the bedroom and down the hall, passing several closed doors. She wondered why a man living on his own with whatever Talia was to him, needed such a large house. Something smaller would have been less of a target and less hard for his enemies to find.

The house had the feel of age about it. Everywhere she looked there were antiques and objects that were probably important works of art. The Hunter seemed to like collecting old things, or perhaps he was just interested in their value. Every assassin needed a retirement plan.

She headed back down the stairs and easily found the kitchen. The units were wooden with stone worktops and a large wooden table in the centre of the room, set for three for breakfast. Was that another indication that there was someone else in this house, she wondered. She walked through the kitchen to the pantry and retrieved the plastic pouch from the fridge that contained the units of blood. O+ she noted. It was one of three, carefully marked “Hunter” and dated about a month ago. He definitely was a planner, and Amaya wondered if she should start keeping units of blood in her own fridge. So far Darhk’s people had always looked after her when she’d been injured, but there was no guarantee that would continue.

She headed back up the stairs and found Talia concluding the stitching of the shoulder wound. The Hunter had a light sheen of sweat across his pale body.

“Good,” said Talia. “I’ll start a line.”

Amaya watched as the other woman got out the equipment for an IV and started the transfusion. She removed a picture from the wall above the bed and hung the blood pack on the hook. Again, Amaya was certain that she’d had to do this before. The hook looked more substantial than the usual type used to hang pictures, so perhaps it had been placed here for exactly that purpose.

Talia stripped off their patient’s pants, leaving him in his underwear. She took the pillows from the head of the bed and put them under his ankles, elevating his feet. Then she covered him with the blankets from the bed. He was shivering now and Amaya identified this as probable shock from the blood loss.

“Will he be alright?” she asked.

“Assuming that the wound doesn’t become infected, he’ll be fine,” said Talia. “This is not the first time for either of us.”

“I got that,” said Amaya. “How did you meet him?”

Talia looked at her with raised eyebrows. “Are you sure you want to start asking questions like that?”

“So far, every time I’ve asked a question, you’ve refused to answer it,” said Amaya.

“I met him when I was sent to kill him,” replied Talia.

“But you didn’t,” said Amaya.

“No, and instead of killing me as he should have done, he spared my life,” said Talia. “I owed him my continued existence, so I bound myself to him as his servant and protector. I am his to do with as he sees fit.”

“Doesn’t that make you his slave?” she asked, somewhat horrified.

“A willing one,” said Talia. “I’ve never had cause to complain of his treatment of me.”

“Are the two of you… together?” asked Amaya, still trying to get her head around what this relationship was.

Talia laughed. “No. There’s only one woman he’s ever loved and he regards any other relationships as a betrayal of his vows to her. There’s never been anyone else and I doubt there ever will be.”

“But she’s gone? Left him or dead?”

“Dead, years ago now,” said Talia. She pointed to the large painting of a dark-haired woman that was on the wall in the bedroom. “That’s her.”

Talia began to clear away the medical supplies, as Amaya studied the picture.

“You’ll stay the night,” said Talia, not a question, Amaya noted. “I’ll make up the spare room for you.”

Amaya nodded. She didn’t have accommodation in Central City and had no wish to make the journey back to Star City at this time of night.

“Thank you,” said Amaya. “Assuming that you’re not going to knife me in my sleep.”

“Given that would incur the anger of Damien Darhk, that wouldn’t be a very wise move on my part, would it?” said Talia, archly.

Having completed collecting up the medical supplies and stowing them, she now went to the Hunter’s bed, lifted the mattress and removed a set of throwing stars. Then she reached behind the headboard and collected a number of knives and a small handgun.

Talia noticed that she was being watched.

“It’s usual for a transfusion to give him a slight fever. If you hear shouting, I’d suggest staying away. He will kill without mercy when threatened and may not know you’re a friend. Even without weapons, he is quite deadly.”

“I understand,” said Amaya. “But I’m capable of looking after myself.”

“I have issued the warning. On your head be it,” said Talia. She left the room with the weapons and medical supplies. The Hunter moved restlessly.

Amaya sighed. She hadn’t envisioned spending her evening babysitting Thawne’s pet sniper. She pulled out her cell phone. She should call her partner and let her know that she wasn’t going to make it back to Star City tonight. She hit the speed dial for Sara.

“Hey there, partner,” said Sara. “Got a hot date?”

“No, I’m stuck in Central babysitting a guy for the boss,” she replied, looking at said guy. The line wasn’t encrypted so she wasn’t going to be able to give Sara much more information than that. “I should be back tomorrow.”

“Okay, well I’ve got a date with a tequila bar and the cutest blonde waitress you’ve ever seen,” said Sara. “The boss gave me the night off.”

“Lucky you. My date for the night is a lot less talkative,” said Amaya. “Although I’m told there’s a higher than average chance that he’ll try to kill me.”

“Hey, do you need backup? I can be there in a couple of hours,” said Sara.

“No, I think I can manage this one on my own. The other thing went off without a hitch,” said Amaya, thinking about the little bit of espionage that she’d taken care of for Mr Darhk before she got called in to take out a Bratva hit.

“Okay, shout if you change your mind,” said Sara.

“Will do. I’ll call you when I’m on my way back,” replied Amaya, and ended the call. She collapsed into a leather armchair in the corner of the room. It seemed kind of familiar, as if she’d sat in it before. It also felt like it didn’t belong here, but then the feeling faded.

She closed her eyes and allowed herself to doze. She was awoken sometime later by someone talking, their tone full of fear. It only took her a couple of seconds to remember where she was and why. The Hunter was moving restlessly and mumbling. It looked like Talia had come and removed the blood transfusion at some point, although Amaya hadn’t heard her come back. She guessed that she’d been more tired than she thought.

Normally she slept much more lightly, but something about this house had made her feel like it was a safe location to sleep. She supposed that having three assassins in the building probably made this about as safe as anywhere she’d slept, even if one of them was currently looking quite ill.

The Hunter’s mumbling was getting more urgent. She decided to see if she could wake him. She doubted the injured man was as dangerous as Talia had made him out to be, especially without weapons.

She climbed onto the bed and shook the Hunter’s good shoulder. “Hey, it’s a bad dream.”

His eyes snapped open and suddenly she found herself being pitched over and a knife at her throat. “You killed them,” was all he said. “You killed them.”

Suddenly the door opened. “Rip!” shouted Talia. “She’s not the enemy. Rip, stand down.”

The Hunter blinked, and the knife was removed from her throat. He collapsed sideways, and the weapon fell from his fingers. He groaned painfully.

“I warned you,” said Talia, as Amaya regained her composure and scrambled away from her attacker to the opposite edge of the bed.

“I thought you removed all of the weapons,” accused Amaya.

“And leave him defenceless? Why would I do that?” she asked. “I just removed most of them.”

“Whilst I’m amused by two women fighting over me,” said the Hunter, “I’d prefer it if you did it elsewhere.”

Talia ignored him and went to check on the Hunter’s wounds.

“Well, at least you didn’t pull your stitches,” said Talia, rearranging the blankets and getting the Hunter back under the covers again.

“What’s going on?” asked a small voice from the corridor. Amaya turned to the doorway to see a small boy with blond hair.

The Hunter’s expression suddenly hardened. He turned his attention to Talia. “I told you that I didn’t want him to see me like this.”

“Then perhaps you should have made less noise,” replied Talia.

“And we have a guest!” spat the Hunter. “Who I am unfortunately not allowed to kill.”

“I could do it for you,” offered Talia.

“The problem is who she works for, not who kills her,” replied the Hunter. Suddenly Amaya was feeling considerably less safe than she had a moment ago.

“Dad?” asked the boy, trying to get their attention again.

The Hunter rolled his eyes. “Jonas, you’re not supposed to be up. Go back to bed and we’ll discuss this in the morning.”

“Are you hurt?” asked the boy, apparently Jonas.

“Yes, but Talia has already treated the wound, now, go back to bed. I will be fine, and I don’t want to see you until morning.”

The boy nodded and wandered off down the corridor.

“You have a son,” said Amaya, with amazement.

“Yes, full marks for observation,” said the Hunter, with sarcasm. “And normally I’d kill you for finding out about him, but I’m not really feeling up to it right now and your boss would probably retaliate by sending your partner after to me. There are very few people who know about Jonas and I can promise you, if anything ever happens to him because you told someone about him, I will kill you without hesitation. No matter who you work for.”

The look in his eyes was the first time she’d seen him express any kind of real emotion. He was unbelievably angry, and it was the kind of anger that came with a disturbing calmness. The kind of anger that only psychopaths could really do properly. She’d seen it in Damien Darhk enough times to spot it.

“I understand,” said Amaya, suddenly feeling cold. “It won’t be me who gives away your secret.”

“See that it isn’t,” said the Hunter, settling back on his pillows.

An alarm sounded, a buzzing, shrill alarm. Suddenly the Hunter was pushing himself back up.

“That’s the outer perimeter alert,” said Talia.

“We have uninvited guests,” said the Hunter. “Most likely of a Russian persuasion.” He looked around him. “Where the hell did you put my clothes?”

Talia threw him his pants and a black t-shirt. The Hunter began to pull on the items, slowly and with clear discomfort every time he tried to turn. He had already broken out in a sweat, and had gritted his teeth with a grunt as he attempted to fasten his pants.

“Go get Jonas to the panic room,” said the Hunter.

“But…” began Talia.

“Jonas first!” he snapped.

“Yes, Mr Hunter,” replied Talia.

Amaya pulled her guns from their holsters and checked the clips, finding them full. She’d reloaded after the fight in the office block. She had further clips in her pocket if she needed them. The Hunter stood, shakily, with a hand on the wall.

“Are you mad?” she asked. “You were shot less than ten hours ago. You can’t get up.”

He turned around to look at her. “I think I just did. You should know by now, Miss Jiwe, that I don’t like it when people come for me. I take it personally. I take it even more personally when they come for me in my own home where my son also lives.”

He went to the wardrobe, clearly not exactly steady on his feet and using the wall for support. With his good arm, he reached up to a shelf and took down a case. He dumped it on the bed and opened it. It had a number of very well-kept guns inside it, which he removed and checked over rapidly. He strapped on a belt with hip holsters and put the two hand guns into it. He shoved ammunition clips into his pockets. Then he took out the rifle, lovingly smoothing his hand across it like it was an old friend.

“Not my favourite, but it will still do the job,” said the Hunter, as he loaded bullets and attached the silencer. “Get the lights, will you?”

Amaya reminded herself again that the Hunter was known for ruthlessly killing his enemies. The man might have a nice house, a son and a strangely devoted house keeper, but he was still a psychopath. She turned out the lights. The Hunter went to the window, knelt down on one knee, and pushed up the sash just enough for him to be able to aim the rifle. He held the rifle like it was a part of him. He aimed down the scope and fired three times.

“Three down,” he said. “That’s dealt with the stupid ones. Unfortunately, we are now left with the slightly more intelligent ones who realise that finding cover when attacking a well-known sniper’s house is of the utmost importance.”

He fired twice again. “Make that five down.” He looked almost happy. “Some of them are bound to be idiotic enough to try the front door or at least a ground floor window. Fancy taking them out, Miss Jiwe?”

She allowed herself a smile of her own, because she too enjoyed her work on days like this. “It will be my pleasure, Hunter. Where are you going to be?”

“Snipers tend to work best with a good vantage point,” said the Hunter. “I’ll be at the top of the stairs.”

Talia returned, a bow and arrows on her back, wearing a rather stylish black leather outfit that Amaya approved of. However, she frowned at her choice of weapon. “Arrows? Really?”

“I’m better with my bow than you or he are with your guns,” replied the woman.

“And yet, you owe me your life,” said the Hunter.

“There were extenuating circumstance,” said Talia. “Besides, given you wounds, I suggest you stay out of the close quarters combat.”

“Speaking of which, where are the stimulants?”

“That is the most foolish thing that you’ve said today,” replied Talia.

“Hand them over,” said the Hunter.

“Do you want to die?” asked Talia.

“No, but I’d like to be able to stay upright as well,” said the Hunter with some annoyance, but he was moving stiffly and Amaya could see that his wounds were troubling him.

“I couldn’t stitch the wound in your side, it was too deep and wide. It’s only packed and dressed. It will bleed again easily,” pointed out Talia. “This is not wise.”

“And when have you ever known me to be wise?” he asked.

Talia sighed, reached into a pocket at her belt and handed him the small bottle of pills that was there.

“What? You’re going to let him take those?” asked Amaya, with disbelief.

“I’m happy to let him go to hell in his own fashion,” said Talia.

“She’s very accommodating like that,” said the Hunter.

“You will most likely collapse afterwards,” Talia warned.

“Afterwards is fine,” replied the Hunter, with a grimace as he downed two of the pills. He grabbed a black jacket from the cupboard and pulled it on over his t-shirt. “Let’s get to our positions, shall we?”

The two women nodded their assent and the three of them headed out of the room to the sound of a breaking window.

“My turn, I believe,” said Talia, heading down the stairs, her bow at the ready and an arrow ready to be nocked in her hand.

“By all means, Ms Al Ghul,” replied the Hunter, as he lay down on the landing, and took aim at the floor below through the bannisters.

“Did you say “Al Ghul”?” asked Amaya.

“I did,” replied the Hunter.

“She’s Talia Al Ghul, former head of the League of Assassins?” said Amaya, with disbelief.

“And now my live-in housekeeper and nanny,” replied the Hunter. “It’s amazing where life can take you, don’t you think?”

She didn’t think that was a question that he actually expected her to answer. Talia nocked the arrow, fired and there was a strangled cry from within the room where the sound of broken glass had come from. She disappeared into the room and there were further sounds of distress from within. One of the attackers was thrown through the doorway and as he was about to get up and head back to the fight, the Hunter took him out with a kill shot to the head.

“If you want some of the action, Miss Jiwe, then you may wish to get down there before Talia has all the fun,” said the Hunter. “I’ll cover you.”

Amaya descended the stairs with a little more caution than Talia had done. She heard more breaking glass and more men were entering the building. She took out several with her two handguns before moving on to hand to hand combat. Any attackers who found themselves in the hall were rapidly dispatched by a shot from upstairs.

Amaya and Talia found themselves back to back at one point with attackers on both sides and the Hunter picking off targets as quickly as he could reload. However, she never felt like they were losing, even if things were a little frenetic at times. They’d just about cleared the ground floor when they heard the sound of another window breaking upstairs. Amaya left Talia to mop up the last few and dashed up the stairs to where she found the Hunter, looking pale and very much like he shouldn’t be out of bed, pressed against the wall at the top of the landing. He had a gun in each hand.

“I usually prefer accuracy over number of bullets, but needs must,” he said, barely above a whisper.

A member of the Bratva made the mistake of sticking his head out of the door and the Hunter put a bullet in it before his victim had even worked out that they were there. Then he kicked open the door and three more Bratva bit the dust, one at Amaya’s hands and the other from bullets from the Hunter’s guns.

Silence descended.

“Clear,” shouted Talia, from downstairs.

“Clear,” replied the Hunter. “I think a perimeter check may be in order, Talia.”

“Agreed,” said Talia, ascending the stairs. Then her eyes widened. “Rip!”

Her hands went to her bow and an arrow shot through the air into a man’s hand, who had made the mistake of raising a gun in the direction of the Hunter. Both he and Amaya had assumed him to be dead. The Hunter went up to the unfortunate survivor, who now had his hand pinned to the wall with an arrow.

“Huh,” said the Hunter, unimpressed by the would-be assassin. “You’ll have to do better than that to kill me in my own home.”

He pressed his gun to the man’s forehead, making sure that he understood exactly what was going to happen to him and fired once.

“Sloppy,” said Talia.

“Forgive me for not being on my best form after being shot,” replied the Hunter. “Perimeter check, go.”

Talia nodded and headed back down the stairs and out of the house.

“And now there are dead Bratva soldiers all over my house,” bemoaned the Hunter.

“You should get back to bed,” said Amaya.

“I need to check on Jonas,” said the Hunter.

He holstered his guns and stumbled towards the bookcase at the end of the hall, pressing down on a series of books in a sequence that seemed to be a code. The bookcase swung back and revealed a second door with a coded lock. Again, a code was entered and this time the door clicked and the Hunter pulled it back. Amaya took note, she might yet find it useful.

“Jonas, are you okay?” he asked.

“Yes, fine,” was the muted reply from within.

Amaya saw the small boy jump at his father and the two of them went down in a heap on the floor as the Hunter let out a yelp of pain, but didn’t let go of his son.

“Careful,” said the Hunter. “I’m a little injured.”

“But you’ll be okay?” asked the boy.

“Yes, I just need some sleep, and so do you. Close your eyes, and keep them shut. I’ll walk you back to your room and you are to stay there until Talia comes to get you for breakfast,” said the Hunter.

Amaya watched as they did exactly that. Even an assassin didn’t want his child to see the number of dead that littered the house. She listened as one of the world’s deadliest snipers put his son to bed and assured him that all the bad guys were dead. It was a surreal moment after all the fighting and death. Talia returned from her perimeter check and declared it to be all clear.

“I’ll call the cleaners,” she said. “Did you put Jonas to bed again?”

The Hunter nodded. “I said you’d get him for breakfast.”

“Very well,” replied Talia. “Now, you should go to bed too. Those stimulants will be wearing off soon.”

“Already, actually,” said the Hunter, wavering on his feet. Amaya and Talia took a side each and walked him back to his bed. He fell onto the bed rather than getting into it. He was shaking by this point as the drugs and adrenaline left his body, his skin clammy again.

“Idiot,” said Talia. “The two of us could have handled it.”

The Hunter just rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t going to leave my son’s protection to anyone but me.”

“You’re still an idiot, Rip,” replied Talia.

“Yes, guilty, going to sleep now. Wake me up if we need to fight more armed men,” he mumbled, and closed his eyes. “Thawne is damn well going to pay for this, if he’s behind it…”

Talia repositioned the blankets and beckoned to Amaya to leave the room. Talia then set about cleaning up the mess, mainly this involved calling the firm of cleaners that dealt with incidents of this nature. Amaya saw a considerable amount of money change hands, but that wasn’t unusual.

Amaya grabbed a few hours’ sleep in the spare room and then took her leave. The Hunter made it very clear that she was not to return to the house unless invited, and that if she allowed anyone to know the address of his home then she would answer for it. She didn’t begrudge him that, given what he was protecting. She agreed to keep his location secret. In any case, she wasn’t needed here now that the threat had passed and it was time for her to get back to Star City. There were vigilantes to catch and heroes to be hunted down.

***

Eobard Thawne was a mercurial boss, which Rip supposed fitted with his speedster nature. He very rarely informed his sniper why he was being asked to kill someone, or indeed who his next target might be. Rip was used to being called up, given the barest of details on who was to die and simply taking out the target. He had taken out many a captain of industry who had happened to get on Thawne’s bad side, and the odd politician too.

However, the question was, had Thawne purposefully sent the Bratva after him or had it really been only an accidental consequence of the hit? Rip didn’t know the answer to that and he hated not knowing. For the moment, he was content to let Thawne think that he believed his excuses. He was already formulating a plan to take down the speedster, a plan which shouldn’t be that difficult with Darhk’s backing. Rip had been keeping Damien up to date with all of Thawne’s moves to rid the world of people who annoyed him, and Darhk was going to owe him sufficiently by the time Rip was ready to enact his plan.

It was unusual for him to be summoned to STAR Labs, Thawne’s main base of operations, but today he got a call to come in and meet with his boss.

“What’s the problem, Eobard?” asked Rip, as he swept into the Cortex. “I’ve just finished dealing with your Bratva complication and I’d prefer a day off before I start on another project.”

“Would that I could give you one, Hunter,” replied Thawne. “Unfortunately, the world turns onwards.”

“Well, spit it out, Eobard. Who do you want me to kill?”

“Malcolm Merlyn,” said Thawne.

Rip just gave his boss a look of mild surprise. “That didn’t take long. I’d expected your alliance to last rather more time than this. What’s he done to deserve my attention?”

“Let’s just say that he’s being difficult,” said Thawne.

“You do realise that as soon as you kill Merlyn, the others will declare it open season on speedsters,” said Rip.

“As if any of them could even catch me, let alone kill me,” replied Thawne. “Besides, I’m sure the two of us can easily deal with the likes of Damien Darhk, Mick Rory, and Leonard Snart.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Nate Heywood, who was running from Thawne’s security.

“Mr Thawne, I need to speak with you. I just need five minutes of your time, please! Reality’s at stake, the world isn’t right!”

Thawne frowned. Rip watched his employer, wondering how he was going to deal with this, although he already had a good idea.

“Okay, let him go, let him go. Let’s see what he has to say,” said Thawne, dismissing the guards.

“He intentionally hit me in the ribs,” said Nate, breathing hard. Rip was somewhat amused by the terrible haircut that he was sporting, but remained silent for now. “First of all, awesome office. I guess it pays to be the smartest man in the world – which is why I have come to you for help.”

“You were saying that the world isn’t right,” said Eobard.

“This world we’re in now is wrong. Reality has changed somehow.” Nate looked quite earnest, and Rip internally cringed. Of all the people to come to with his suspicions, Nate had picked the man responsible.

“How do you know all this?” asked Thawne, clearly toying with his victim now.

“There’s signs everywhere if you know where to look. There’s subtle inconsistencies in the fabric of reality. I call them scars. Like after you’ve been operated on. Reality has been operated on,” Nate explained.

“Truly fascinating.” Eobard was getting that dangerous look in his eyes. The one he had when he was happily letting someone hang themselves.

“And if reality is, as you say, changed, what exactly do you expect Mr Thawne to do about it?” asked Rip, finally deciding that he had no recourse but to pay attention to this.

“Mr Thawne could help me fix it. You’re a genius. You figured out cold fusion, you saved the polar bears, you fixed global warming, you made desalination _sustainable_. You solve problems like this every day. If anyone can figure out why these scars exist and how to put the world back to the way it was, it’s you.” Nate continued on, oblivious of the fact that he was digging his own grave, possibly not just metaphorically.

“You know what, I think you’re on to something. Something is definitely not right here.” He turned to Rip, who had a good idea of what was coming next. “Fix it. Take Mr Heywood out for some fresh air. And kill him.”

“Not really my style, Eobard, but I’ll make an exception for you. Then we should definitely talk more about your other problem,” said Rip, pulling his gun on Nate. “After you, Mr Heywood.”

Nate looked like a kicked puppy, but Rip wasn’t going to let that stop him from putting a bullet in the man. As they left STAR Labs, they passed Mick Rory and Leonard Snart entering the building, apparently on some errand for Thawne. Mick caught Rip’s eye for a moment, but it was only a second. The arsonist paused and seemed to consider what was going on, but Snart called him and the two headed into the building.

Rip took Nate out to a suitable location, making him drive them there. He had to endure a considerable amount of babbling on the way and when they arrived at their destination, he was still talking.

“But I’m nobody. The only person who reads my blog is my Mom. The only reason you’d want to kill me is if… I’m right.”

“Would you just shut up?” said Rip, with menacing anger.

“But you’re going to kill me. Doesn’t it bother you that reality is wrong?”

“Not in the slightest. You see I’m one of those things that’s “wrong” and I’m rather enjoying it.”

Rip shoved him forwards.

“Goodbye, Mr Heywood.”

Rip shot him once in the stomach and his target dropped like a stone, clutching at his wound.

“The amusing thing is, I once did this to Sara, but she didn’t stay dead. I’ve learnt my lesson since then. Gut shots are painful, exquisitely so. They’re perfect if you want your victim to suffer, but headshots are far more effective if you want someone to stay dead.”

He took a moment to enjoy the fear in Nate’s eyes and put a second bullet in his head.

***

Amaya got a very strange call from her partner, asking her to come to the basement of STARLabs because there was something she needed to see. Sara had disappeared that morning without a word, but she had no reason to suspect anything was amiss. She found herself standing in the STARLabs’ basement one moment waiting to meet her partner, then Sara, accompanied by a man she didn't recognise and Mick Rory, was aiming a gun at her head and suddenly the world came crashing down around her.

“What the hell?” she asked. “What just happened?”

“We fixed your memory,” said Sara. “The Legion of Doom apparently decided to keep us around after they used the Spear to set reality to how they wanted it.”

Amaya rounded on Mick and smacked him across the jaw.

“You bastard. We trusted you,” she said.

Mick rubbed at his new bruise. “If one more person does that then I’m going to start hitting back.”

“How did you even work out what was going on?”

“Mick came to Ray and found that he’d been working on a gun to restore our memories. Somehow his subconscious was telling him this wasn’t right,” said Sara. “They picked me up on the way to work this morning.”

“I made a horrible mistake,” said Mick. “I needed to fix it.”

“We killed people, Sara,” said Amaya. “Good people.”

“I know,” said Sara. “But we weren’t ourselves and we don’t have time to deal with that right now. We need to work out how to rescue the rest of the team and get the Spear back so that we can fix this mess.”

“Okay, so where is everyone?” asked Ray.

“Thawne’s got Jax and the Professor working on some top-secret project,” said Mick. “Nate’s dead. The Englishman killed him.”

“What?!” asked Ray. “Did you just say that Rip killed Nate?”

Amaya looked at Sara. “Rip’s the Hunter. Thawne’s hitman. That job in Central City the other week that Darhk sent me on, I was helping him take down a group of Bratva soldiers that had been sent to kill him. He’s utterly ruthless, and one of the best snipers I’ve ever seen. He enjoys killing.”

“Basically, we’re dealing with Evil Rip again,” said Sara, with a sigh.

“Oh,” said Ray, miserably. “That’s really not good and it makes total sense that if Thawne wanted one of us dead, he’d send Evil Rip.”

“There’s something else you need to know. I was listening to a conversation between Darhk and Rip in Darhk’s office. Rip’s secretly working for Darhk to take down Thawne,” said Amaya. “And Darhk said that Rip wasn’t like the rest of us. He was given a choice: to forget his past like us, or go back to being Evil Rip. He chose this. He wanted to be this man again.”

Sara frowned. “He can’t have. It tore him apart last time. The guilt’s written on his face every time he looks at one of us.”

“But he did,” said Amaya. “And he has a son in this reality.”

That clearly caught Sara’s attention. “Wait, he has a son? Is his name Jonas?”

Amaya nodded.

“Damnit, Rip!” she said, with frustration.

“I don’t understand,” said Amaya.

“Rip lost his wife and son. They were killed by Vandal Savage,” said Ray. “He recruited us to go back and save them, but we failed. I thought he’d come to terms with their deaths, but I suppose if someone offered to give me Anna back, I might do something stupid too.”

“His grief nearly consumed him,” said Sara. “He once told me he wasn’t certain if he’d choose the team or his family. I guess he decided.”

“So, was this the Spear or did they alter his memories again?” asked Ray.

“Who knows?” said Sara. “Let’s hope it was the Spear because otherwise he might as well be dead to us. If the memory gun doesn’t work then we don’t have the time or equipment to go into his head again.”

“I can’t believe that Nate’s dead,” said Amaya. “Why would he do that?”

“Maybe he found out that this reality was wrong?” suggested Ray.

“It doesn’t matter. If we get the Spear we can fix it all. We just need to work out how to use it,” Sara pointed out.

“Yes, but none of us even know where to begin,” said Amaya.

“Mick does,” said Sara. “He was there when they used it the first time. Right?”

“Yeah, there was a book. The calibrate, the callyboros, callabrayos, something like that, and an incantation.” Mick gave a shrug as if it wasn’t really important.

“Okay, well that’s a start,” said Sara. “Ray and Mick, you get to a library. The two of you need to work on finding the right incantation.”

Ray nodded. “Okay, but you realise this is, was, more Nate’s field. I’m not sure where we start.”

“It was in Aramaic,” said Mick. “We should probably start with stuff in Aramaic.”

“How do you even know what that sounds like?” asked Ray.

“The Passion of Christ,” said Mick, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Good film.”

“Let’s go get Jax and then we can work out how to get to Martin and Rip,” said Sara.

***

Jax wasn’t difficult. They shot him in the head with the gun as he was going to his car outside STAR Labs and he was back to his usual self.

“Who do we go for next?” asked Sara. The three of them were now sat in Amaya’s car, with Jax in the back, still hoping that no one had noticed that Darhk’s top team of assassins was off the grid.

“Grey’s building something for Thawne at STAR LAbs,” said Jax. “It’s some big deal that Thawne wants done yesterday.”

“What’s he building?” asked Amaya.

“It’s some kind of reactor. It’s supposed to burn a thousand times hotter than the sun,” said Jax.

“That sounds ominous,” said Amaya. “Why would he want that?”

“What if he’s trying to destroy the Spear?” asked Sara.

“That’s impossible though. That’s why Rip broke it up into pieces,” said Jax.

“But maybe he figured out another way. By incinerating it,” said Sara.

“Why would he want to?” said Amaya.

“So that he could lock this reality in,” said Jax. “He’s happy with what he’d got and he doesn’t want anyone to take it away from him.”

“We have to get that Spear,” said Sara, with determination.

Sara’s phone rang. She looked at the screen. “Ray. How’s it going?”

“We’re getting nowhere, Sara. We’ve tried every library in the city and none of them have anything that could help us. We need an expert on this, but our expert is dead,” said Ray.

“Then we’ll go for the next best thing,” said Sara. “I bet Rip knows more about this than we do.”

“At least he probably speaks Latin,” said Ray. “I can’t even read half this stuff and putting it through Google translate is slow. I really miss our translator nanites.”

“I know where Rip’s house is in Central City,” said Amaya, “but his housekeeper is a former member of the League of Assassins.”

“Who?” asked Sara, probably partly from professional interest.

“Talia Al Ghul,” replied Amaya.

“Great, one of the most highly trained assassins in the League. In this reality, she killed Ra’s and was only ousted by Merlyn taking over. No one knew what happened to her,” said Sara.

“That doesn’t sound good,” said Jax.

“But she doesn’t know that we’re not still working for Darhk,” said Sara. “All we have to do is pretend nothing’s changed. Ray, you and Mick need to meet us at Rip’s house.”

Amaya gave them the address. “But stay outside until we give you the all clear. You don’t want to get on Talia Al Ghul’s bad side.”

“Or Rip Hunter’s,” said Sara. “At least not when he’s got a house full of guns.”

They drove to the rather nice area of Central City where Rip had his modest gothic pile. It was the smallest house in a street full of mansions, but Sara smirked when she saw it.

“He couldn’t help himself, could he?” she said.

Amaya shrugged. “He may be Rip, but he’s not our Rip. Don’t get confused. The only thing he seemed to care about was his son. I saw him taunt one of the Bratva and then shoot him in the head.”

“Don’t worry, I know who we’re dealing with,” said Sara. “He tried to kill me, remember?”

Amaya went to the gate and entered the passcode that Rip had told her the last time she was here. It didn’t work, but she’d assumed that it wouldn’t. She pressed the buzzer instead.

“Yes?” asked a familiar female voice.

“It’s Amaya Jiwe and Sara Lance. We need to talk to the Hunter,” she said.

“Very well,” said the woman. The gates opened and Sara and Amaya stepped inside, and as before, the gate closed behind them.

“Into the lion’s den,” said Sara, noting the gate shutting behind her.

“Honestly, it’s more like a spider in her web,” said Amaya. “Talia is loyal to Rip, and that house is basically a fortress.”

She knocked on the door, and it was opened not by Talia but by Rip. He was dressed in his usual black shirt and trousers, with the slightest smile on his lips. Amaya didn’t like the look in his eyes.

“Miss Jiwe and Miss Lance, come in, please,” said Rip. He stood back from the door and allowed them to enter.

Someone closed the door behind them and Amaya realised that Talia had been behind the door all along. There was now an arrow aimed at their back, and Rip had produced a gun from seemingly nowhere. He was aiming it at Sara’s head.

“It was made clear to you, Miss Jiwe, what would happen to you if you showed your face here again without an invitation. And I believe I explicitly mentioned that I would put a bullet in your brain if you ever told another living soul my address,” said Rip, menacingly. “So, if I was you, I would explain yourself, quickly.”

“Thawne is planning to destroy the Spear,” said Amaya.

“Hmm,” said Rip, seeming to think for a second. “I suppose that is worth a visit, but you’ll forgive me if I ask you to take out your weapons and put them on the table.” He indicated the round table in the centre of the hall.

Sara and Amaya both did as asked, Sara rather reluctantly taking out the reality gun. They both knew that they’d still be searched and if they tried to hide it then that would just look worse.

“Talia, if you would do the honours,” said Rip.

Talia patted them both down as Rip kept his gun aimed at them, with the safety off. Sara and Amaya exchanged a look. Their time in Doomworld had given them something useful, and that was the ability to almost read each other’s minds when it came to a fight.

Sara elbowed Talia in the gut, as Amaya launched herself at Rip. He fired but she’d moved quickly, the shot was wide and Amaya knocked the gun out of his hand before he could get a second shot off. The look he gave her was both scornful and annoyed, as if he had nothing but contempt for her attack. She kicked out at him and he took a step back, dropping into a fighting stance, not exactly as tidy as her own but entirely passable. He aimed a punch at her, followed by another as he blocked and dodged out of her way. She tried a different tactic and purposefully aimed for the shoulder where he’d been wounded. It wouldn’t be healed yet by any means. He yelped in pain as the punch connected, but shrugged it off, catching her on the chin with a right hook of his own.

Out of the corner of her eye she could just see Talia and Sara trading blows in a fluid match of assassin versus assassin. She didn’t have time to watch though, Rip might not have been trained by the JSA, but he was a competent fighter who had just grabbed a chair and was attempting to batter her with it. A fair fight was not on either of their agendas. Amaya stepped out of the way of the chair, which Rip broke on the ground and discarded as useless.

He shook his arm and a knife appeared from his sleeve. It wasn’t big but it would do considerable damage if it hit her. He slashed at her like a fencer and she felt it cut into her jacket as she was a beat too slow with her move backwards. But she caught his hand the next time he came at her and twisted his wrist, forcing him to drop the weapon. She kicked it away, and he actually rolled his eyes at her. Clearly he didn’t think that would stop him. He was wrong about that.

She got a good punch in, and whilst he was disorientated, she kneed him in the stomach, making sure to catch the area where the bullet wound in his side was. He groaned, and went down to his knees. Amaya wasn’t going to miss an opportunity, she punched him again in his injured shoulder and he collapsed sideways, clearly in agony.

She turned and grabbed the reality gun from the table, and before Rip could regain his feet, she fired. He blinked briefly, breathing hard from exertion and pain. Then he looked over at Sara and Talia with some horror.

“Talia!” he shouted. “Stand down. That’s an order.”

“No!” said the assassin come housekeeper.

“Talia, I said “stand down”. Enough,” said Rip, doing his best to at least sit up.

Sara took a step away from Talia to put some space between them, and Talia also backed away. She looked over at Rip.

“Imbecile,” said Talia, as she headed towards him. She pulled his hand away from his side and revealed blood.

“Yes, yes,” said Rip. “It’s not my fault that a couple of assassins decided to call and engage me in hand to hand combat.”

“You’re the one who let them in,” said Talia. “I wanted to shoot them from the window.”

“Yes, and then we’d never have found out that Thawne wants to destroy the Spear,” said Rip. “Oh, and I’d have killed two more of my friends.”

Amaya picked up her guns from the table. She holstered one and aimed the other at Rip and Talia, pulling out zip ties from her jacket pocket. She threw them on the ground.

“You know what to do with those,” said Amaya. “Hunter first, and then you, Talia.”

“He’s bleeding,” said Talia. “I need to tend to him.”

Amaya gave her a very unimpressed look. “No one is being tended to until you’re both tied up.”

Talia looked like she was thinking about starting a second fight, but Rip stopped her with a hand on her arm.

“Do it,” said Rip. “It’ll be okay.”

“Behind your backs,” instructed Amaya.

Talia huffed unhappily but put the zip ties first around Rip’s wrists, which clearly caused him some pain as she pulled the plastic tight and it tugged on his injured shoulder, but Amaya was finding it hard to care right now. Rip didn’t resist. Talia then put the ties around her own wrists, and Amaya pulled them tight. She left them sitting on the floor, well away from any weapons.

“Is that really necessary?” asked Sara.

“He killed Nate,” said Amaya.

“Yeah, and how many people have we killed?” asked Sara.

“We didn’t know what we were doing,” said Amaya. “He did. He chose to be that monster.”

“She’s right,” said Rip. “I did.” He was looking down at the ground, and Amaya felt the guilt radiating off him.

“Why would you do that?” asked Sara. “You were distraught last time. You couldn’t even look me in the eye for weeks. Gideon made you take sleeping pills just so that you actually got some sleep. You know what he did and what he was capable of. Why, Rip?”

Rip looked up at her sharply. “Because Thawne offered me Jonas. He stood him in front of me, restored to life, and threatened to kill him if I didn’t agree. I couldn’t look my son in the eye and fail to protect him a second time, even if it meant becoming a monster again. The agreement was that I would serve him as my less agreeable self, and I would be allowed to keep my feelings for my son intact. Otherwise I shudder to think how I could have treated him. He could have turned me back into my evil self without my agreement, but by making it my choice, he made me complicit in everything that I did from that point onwards.”

He looked down again. “So, you see, Jonas is not a reward, or even the carrot on the stick, no Jonas is here to remind me that if I ever cross Thawne, or try to put the world right, my son will be gone.”

“Well that makes things more complicated,” said Sara.

“Hunter…” said Talia. “What are they talking about?”

“It’s a long and complicated tale,” said Rip. “But suffice to say that I’m not exactly the man I was.” He looked up at Amaya. “I’m assuming that gun that you shot me with was a spiritual kick to the head to restore my memories before the Spear of Destiny altered them?”

Amaya nodded. “Ray built it.”

“Talia,” said Rip, “I’m afraid that you’re not going to understand everything that is about to happen, but I need to know that you’ll still protect Jonas, no matter what.”

“Of course,” said Talia. “I am yours to command and I swore on my honour that I would protect you and your son.”

“Thank you,” said Rip.

The buzzer for the gate sounded. “That’ll be Mick and Ray,” said Sara. “I’ll let them in. You keep an eye on those two.”

Amaya nodded, her guns trained on Talia and Rip.

“This is ridiculous,” said Rip. “I’m on your side.”

“Are you?” asked Amaya. “We’re here because we’re planning to steal the Spear and use it to put everything right again. I’m getting the impression that you wouldn’t help us with that.”

Rip hung his head for a moment. “No, you’re right, I won’t.”

Sara opened the door for Ray, Mick and Jax to enter.

“Didn’t the reality gun work?” asked Ray, looking at Rip, tied up and sat on the floor.

“It worked,” said Sara. “But we have a problem.”

“He won’t help us,” said Amaya.

“What?” asked Jax. “Why not?”

Mick hefted his gun. “English killed Pretty. I saw him leaving STAR Labs with him.”

“Yes, I did. Thawne ordered me to do it, but I pulled the trigger,” said Rip.

“But that wasn’t you,” said Sara. “Darhk ordered us to kill people and we did, but that wasn’t us.”

“Yes, but Miss Jiwe is completely correct. This wasn’t forced on me. I chose it this time. Everything that he did is my fault and my responsibility,” said Rip.

“He threatened to kill your son. If that isn’t being forced then I don’t know what is,” said Sara.

“I still could have refused. Jonas was already dead in our reality…” said Rip, shaking his head. “I just… couldn’t.”

Amaya looked at Rip. “We need to work out how to use the Spear. Nate’s dead however you look at it. You’re the only person left who might have any idea how to find the incantation. We need your help.”

“You can’t ask me to help kill my son,” replied Rip.

“We’re not,” said Sara, “but you know he was never supposed to be here. Everything has to go back to the way it was.”

“We all have people we want to bring back,” said Amaya, “or things we want to change. Thawne did this to stop you from trying to put reality back the way it was. He’s manipulating you with a son that doesn’t exist.”

“Doesn’t exist? He’s upstairs right now, waiting for me to tell him it’s safe to come out,” snapped Rip. “He’s alive and real. Have you any idea what it’s like to outlive your own son? To lose a child? Any of you? He’s my everything. I can’t lose him again. I won’t.” He blinked tears out of his eyes.

Sara took a step forward and knelt in front of Rip. “You once told me that I couldn’t bring Laurel back and you asked me to understand. It took me a while, but I do understand now. I can’t change all of time to have one person back in my life, and you know just as well as I do that you can’t change all of reality to keep Jonas. It isn’t fair and it isn’t right, but it is what has to be.”

Rip met Sara’s eyes and tears rolled down his cheek. Sara reached out and brushed them away. Amaya noted how pale he was.

“I can’t do this again. It will break me, Sara,” said Rip, his eyes red.

“No, it won’t. You’re stronger than that,” said Sara. “Maybe you can’t save Jonas, but you can save reality itself, and we need your help.”

He took in a deep breath, and let it out, looking away for a long moment.

“I have a library,” said Rip, with a nod of his head towards a door on the left, and his voice thick with emotion. “That room. It should have what you’re looking for.”

Sara made eye contact again. “Thank you.” She looked up at Amaya. “Untie them.”

Amaya’s eyebrows raised. She didn’t think that this was a good idea at all. “We can’t trust him.”

Sara got to her feet. “There are a lot of people in this room that have been given second chances, third and fourth chances even,” she said, glancing in Mick’s direction. “It’s what we do. Besides, he needs medical attention, and from the sounds of it, Talia’s the best one to give it to him.”

Amaya let out an exasperated sigh, but she flicked open her knife and cut the ties that bound Rip’s hands and then Talia’s. She had wondered if Talia would try to attack her but she didn’t. She moved across to Rip and began removing his shirt to get a better look at his injury. Rip winced as she pulled the material away from his side.

“You pulled your stitches open,” said Talia, crossly. Rip said nothing, staring at a point on the ground, seeming not to care.

“Ray, Jax, Mick, search the library. Find what we need,” said Sara. “Amaya…” she paused. “Look after Rip.”

Amaya looked at the man in front of her, a man in pain who had given up hope. “Give me a moment,” she said, and she ascended the stairs, going to the bookcase at the end of the hall. She remembered the sequence of books to pull and then the passcode. This one hadn’t been changed. She peeked inside the room behind the door and found a small boy, sandy haired, eight or nine, sat on a bed and reading a book about spaceships.

“Hey, Jonas,” she said.

The boy moved backwards away from her, a scared look in his eyes.

“It’s okay,” she said, holding out a hand to him. “We’ve met before. I’m Amaya. Your Daddy’s downstairs waiting for you. He’s a bit sad and he really needs you right now.”

Jonas edged forwards on the bed, he gave the smallest of nods and took her hand. She led him out of the room and down the stairs to where Talia was just finishing off applying new dressings to Rip’s shoulder and side.

“Daddy!” he shouted, jumping down the last two steps. Rip looked up with surprise for a second before he smiled and held out an arm to receive his son.

“Jonas,” he said, with more love in one word than Amaya ever felt she’d heard before. He hugged his son, placing a kiss on his head, and blinked away more tears. “I’m so glad that you’re safe.”

***

Rip couldn’t bring himself to enter the library. He knew that Sara was right and reality did have to be put right. Jonas was an aberration in both time and reality, but that aberration was also his son and he loved him more than he loved life itself. The idea that he was going to lose him was a fiery pit in his centre that threatened to consume him. He was barely holding it together and he knew it, and perhaps the worst thing about it all was that this was exactly what Thawne had intended to happen if Rip ever became himself again.

Talia had persuaded him to move to the sofa in the lounge and rest while he recovered from yet more blood loss. She’d brought him a fresh, white shirt and Jonas had joined him, cramming himself into the gap between his stretched out legs and the back of the sofa. Amaya had retrieved his favourite book from upstairs and he was studying it with some intensity, mostly oblivious to the activity around him.

Talia had wanted to stand guard, but Rip had told her it wasn’t required. The Legends weren’t the enemy, despite earlier indications to the contrary. Then the former assassin had gone to the kitchen and made tea and sandwiches. It rather amused him to see the Legends utterly baffled by being served tea by Talia Al Ghul, and things that amused him were in short supply at the moment. She also refused to let them have drinks anywhere near his books, so they’d all come into the lounge for a break except Ray who thought he might have a promising lead.

“So how did Talia come to be your housekeeper?” asked Sara, when the subject of her question left the room to clear away the used crockery. Jonas had fallen asleep at some point during the evening and was now curled up against Rip’s good side.

“I believe she told Amaya,” said Rip, still tired and feeling the ache from his wound more than he felt the severity of the injury deserved.

“She said that you didn’t kill her when she came to assassinate you, so she owed you her life and she bound herself to you as your servant and protector,” said Amaya. “She didn’t exactly go into details. What I don’t understand is why your other self didn’t kill her? I could understand this Rip Hunter letting her live, but the other one…”

“You’re entirely correct, he would have killed her for attacking him, but she chose to attempt to kill me here, and Jonas walked in at an inopportune moment. Even my evil self refused to kill a person in front of his young son. She was too badly injured to leave and Jonas asked his father to help the pretty woman who was bleeding on the floor. Jonas was my alter ego’s one emotional blind spot, and we both would do anything for him, even tend to an assassin sent to kill us. When she was recovered, she swore her loyalty to me, and because I was an utter bastard, I accepted it as due payment without even a single question,” said Rip. “Strangely, she’s always been a fantastic nanny to Jonas, and he loves her. I did have to stop her from teaching him how to flick throwing stars across the room once though. Not because I thought he might hurt himself, you understand, but because he was making holes in the woodwork. He sulked for at least a day before she moved onto kendo and they both considered that to be far more fun.”

Jax frowned at that. “You let Jonas learn kendo? Isn’t he a bit young for that?”

Rip shrugged. “I was learning to fence from the age of ten. There’s nothing wrong with knowing how to handle a sword and it’s good exercise as well as being fun.”

Ray came into the room holding a book. “I think I’ve found it,” he said, and read out a string of Aramaic words. “Does that sound right, Mick?”

“Yeah,” said Mick. “That’s it.”

“You’re sure?” asked Amaya.

“It’s not something I’m going to forget any time soon,” replied Mick, ignoring the fact that he had forgotten it earlier.

“Okay, we all need to learn it. If one of us gets the Spear, we’ll all have to be ready to use it,” said Sara.

Amaya nodded. “We do it properly this time. No personal agendas. We just put everything back to how it was.”

Rip looked downwards, and put his tea cup down on the table before he dropped it. His hand was shaking and this was rapidly becoming too much for him to deal with.

“Everyone, finish your sandwiches and tea, we’re heading out to get Martin and the Spear as soon as it gets dark,” said Sara. There were nods all round.

“Everyone, except Rip,” said Amaya.

Rip frowned and looked up to meet her gaze, expecting to be told that he couldn’t be trusted.

“He’s injured,” she said, but the look in her eyes told him that wasn’t why. “We don’t need him anyway.”

Rip hmphed at that. “Thank you for that boost to my ego,” he said, dryly. “Until today I was a world class hitman you know.”

“Amaya’s right,” said Sara, “there’s no need for you to come. Stay here and spend the time you have with Jonas.”

He knew very well when he was being given an out. He wouldn’t have to be the one to hold the Spear and wish his son away, or watch someone else do it. He realised that he wasn’t strong enough to refuse, because despite what Sara said, losing Jonas again would break him. He couldn’t endure the pain and loss again, especially not whilst atoning for everything he’d done whilst his evil self. He remembered the moment he had taunted Nate with his own inevitable death all too vividly.

“If I can’t go, then you should take Talia,” said Rip. “Another skilled fighter could make all the difference.”

Sara nodded. “If she’ll come.”

“She will if I ask her to,” said Rip.

“Well, we’ll be happy to have her on our side,” said Sara. “It sounds like we’ve got a plan.”

Rip hugged Jonas to himself more closely and wondered whether he could even go on once he was gone again. He had once wished for Thawne to restore Miranda to him as well, but now he was glad that he wouldn’t have to endure that loss a second time too.

***

Talia’s addition to the team had proven to be crucial in dealing with the speedster. They were glad to have her on their side, and she kept the guards at bay with arrows while Amaya grabbed the Spear. She looked to Sara, checking that this really was what they wanted her to do and she received a curt nod of affirmation. She spoke the incantation and found herself face to face with her mother, the previous wearer of the amulet.

“Daughter,” she said, in the native language of Zambesi.

“Mother,” she replied, and then frowned. “This isn’t right. You’re… dead.”

Her mother smiled. “Indeed. I am lucky to have so wise a child. You have decisions to make, Amaya.”

Amaya nodded. “I ask that the world be returned to its state before Eobard Thawne and his allies changed it, but that the Speedforce sends its enforcer to claim him at the Vanishing Point. I ask that his allies are returned to their appropriate times with no memory of what happened to them after Thawne removed them from their time lines. I ask that all my friends are returned to the Waverider, whole and uninjured.”

Her mother smiled. “It will be done. There is nothing for _you_ there though. The Spear holds ultimate power and I can feel that you want something more. Perhaps the fire in Zambesi? I could set that right for you?”

Amaya shook her head. “No, I will not wield the Spear for me. I cannot without being corrupted by it, but there is one other life I wish restored. I want Jonas Hunter returned to his father’s side.”

Her mother looked scornful for a moment. “One boy, returned to his father? That is all? Should you not ask for the mother also, and the grandfather, the fiancée, the friend, the sister, the father, the partner? The one you loved and wanted to avenge? I can give them all to you. All your friends could have their loved ones restored.”

Amaya shook her head. “No, because then reality would break again. I only ask for the boy because he never had a chance to live and because I know that his death will be more than his father can bear. I don’t want to lose any more friends. I ask for him because his father has given him up twice to save others. It’s not fair that he has to make the sacrifice a second time.”

Her mother nodded, thoughtfully. “It will be done.”

“One last thing, please,” she said. “No one should have the power of the Spear, it’s too much for any one person. When we’re all returned, I want it to be destroyed.”

Her mother smiled and then laughed, “as you wish, my clever daughter, as you wish.”

Then Amaya stood on the bridge of the Waverider, the Spear still in her hand, with the Legends all around her. Nate looked utterly confused, Stein looked like he might be ill, but it was Rip that she was more worried about. He put a hand out to steady himself on the console table. His expression was darker than she’d ever seen it before, and utterly despairing.

“Excuse me,” said Rip. “I, er, need a moment… to, er, regain my composure.”

Amaya watched him as he made it to the doorway of the bridge and then had to put out a hand again to stop himself from just collapsing.

“Rip,” said Sara. “Jonas was asleep on the sofa with you, wasn’t he?”

He didn’t turn or speak, he just nodded, his eyes screwed shut.

“Maybe you should come and put him to bed then,” she said, looking towards the study. “If he sleeps like that then he’ll get a sore neck.”

Rip’s head snapped up, a look of hope suddenly on his face as his eyes opened and he ran to the doorway of the study. “Jonas,” he said, as he saw the small boy that was asleep in one of the larger leather armchairs. “My Jonas.”

He went to him and hugged him, even as the boy protested about being woken up. Amaya thought it was justifiable given the circumstances. Rip was crying but they were tears of happiness now. Amaya smiled.

“What happened to no messing with reality and doing things by the book?” asked Sara.

Amaya shrugged. “I saw the two of them together. Even when he wasn’t himself, he still cared for his son more than anything.” She looked around her at the other smiling faces. “I thought the others might be angry with me.”

Sara shook her head. “If you were going to bring anyone back, it had to be him. I know I told him that he could survive it, but that was because it was what he needed to hear. I’m not sure he could have stood losing him twice. I know I couldn’t have watched him go through that pain again.”

Sara went to join Rip and Jonas, and she could hear sleeping arrangements being discussed. Jax was dragged over to work out the logistics of getting another bed moved into Rip’s quarters, even if only temporarily. Amaya doubted that Rip would stay on the Waverider with them for much longer, he had more important things to take care of now.

Nate came over and Amaya wrapped him in an embrace, kissing him on the lips.

He looked a little surprised. “I don’t suppose anyone is going to fill me in on what just happened? I, er, remember that Evil Rip was going to kill me, and then I was here.”

“He did,” said Amaya, “but the Spear brought you back.”

“Oh. And by the looks of it, Rip’s son,” said Nate. “It was you, wasn’t it? You used the Spear?”

Amaya nodded. “I saw my mother. She offered me everything I wanted, but I couldn’t take it. If I’d done what I wanted, I’d have broken reality just as badly as Thawne and the Legion did.”

“I’m so proud of you right now,” said Nate. “My badass girlfriend. Wielder of the Spear of Destiny.”

“Once was enough,” said Amaya. She watched as the Spear disintegrated in her hands, gone for good.

“Huh,” said Nate. “That deals with that.”

Amaya watched Rip and Jonas together and decided that yes, it did. Maybe she couldn’t have a family the way that she’d wanted to, but she’d given someone else theirs back, and it felt good. It felt like it was meant to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have to confess that Amaya isn't my favourite character from the show, but she does kick ass and Rip needed some help in this. I've got no idea where Talia came from, she just decided that this was her own form of Doomworld torture. Maybe Malcolm didn't just hate Nyssa.


	5. Ray and The Prisoner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ray was pretty happy with his janitorial job, he enjoyed cleaning, until he got assigned to the pipeline cells and realised there was something strangely familiar about one of the prisoners. Unfortunately, that prisoner also had information that Thawne was prepared to do anything to get.
> 
> Warnings: Torture, psychological torture, non-consensual drug use

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies that this is sooo late. I have to admit that this ended up being about four times longer than it was supposed to be and so it took a lot more writing than expected.

Ray Palmer was a great janitor. He loved his work; cleaning was therapeutic for him. You started out with something dirty, you applied cleaning products, worked at it a little, and then you made it clean. He liked his job at STAR Labs, cleaning, and he had a den in the basement where he slept and could play computer games and eat pizza.

He normally had a well-defined area that he cleaned, and his days were comfortingly similar. However, occasionally his boss asked him to cover for one of the other janitors, and so, on this particular day, he’d been asked to clean the pipeline where the prisoner cells were. He’d never actually worked in this area of STAR Labs before, but it wasn’t any different from cleaning anywhere else, really. He washed the glass of the cells, doing his best to ignore the occupants, some of whom weren’t exactly friendly. Others just sat there, staring into the distance, and a couple tried to engage him in conversation but he wasn’t here to talk, just to clean.

He was mopping the floor when there were shouts from down the corridor and suddenly a man was running full pelt in his direction. He wore the same jumpsuit that all the prisoners in the pipeline wore, nondescript dark grey with a number printed on the pocket and sleeve. This man had a beard and sandy, light brown hair and wasn’t looking where he was going, in fact, he was looking back towards his pursuers. He smacked right into Ray and his bucket of soapy water, landing on top of Ray and overturning the bucket of water.

Ray lay on his back, stunned into silence by the collision, and feeling the water seeping into his boiler suit. The man gathered his senses together quickly and then looked down at who he had bumped into. He’d been readying himself to spring off Ray and run onwards, but suddenly he stopped, a look of shock appearing on his face.

“Ray?” he asked. “Oh god, Ray!”

“Uh, how do you know my name?” asked Ray.

The man scrambled to his feet. “You don’t recognise me?” he asked, frantically, checking behind him again. He reached down and pulled Ray to his feet. “I suppose the Spear must have taken your memories. That is not good news, but at least you’re alive.”

“What?” asked Ray, baffled by the entire thing.

“Hi, my name’s Rip Hunter and we need to get out of here, now,” he said, pulling Ray in the direction he’d been running. “I’ll explain later.”

Ray dug his heels in. “I can’t go anywhere, I’ve got floors to wash.”

“No, you don’t,” said the man who had introduced himself as Rip Hunter. “You’re Doctor Ray Palmer, the Atom and none of this is right.”

“Actually, I’m just Ray Palmer, and I’m a janitor for STAR Labs. You must have me confused with someone else,” he replied.

“Damn it, Ray, now is not the time…” said Rip, his eyes widening as guards came running around the corner from the direction he’d just come from. “I’ll be back for you,” he said, and took off again, only to be tackled a few more metres down the corridor by a group of guards coming in the other direction.

Ray wasn’t entirely happy about what happened next. Rip Hunter didn’t go down easily, he punched one guard and kicked another, but the guards weren’t gentle either and they outnumbered him. They hit him until he was down on the ground and then kicked him in the side. Finally, one of the guards used his shock baton on the prisoner and the man cried out in pain.

“Hey,” said Ray. “He’s down.”

A guard looked at him. “What’s it to you? He hit one of us and ran. He deserves worse.”

“I’m just saying he doesn’t look like he’s much of a threat now,” said Ray, with a shrug.

“Get back to work, retard,” said the guard. “This is nothing to do with you.”

Two guards rather unceremoniously picked up the man by his arms, his feet dragging behind him and head down. He didn’t seem to be in any state to struggle anymore. Ray could see that he was bleeding from a cut on his head.

“Come on,” said the one who appeared to be the head guard, “he’s due in interrogation.”

The guards moved off with their prisoner and Ray let out a sigh. There was water all over the floor and he was uncomfortably wet. He began mopping, trying not to think about what he’d just seen, and instead considered whether he’d order Chinese food for dinner tonight. He knew that prisoners weren’t necessarily treated well in the pipeline, but they were bad people who had done some very bad things. Some of them had even tried to kill Mr Thawne, which was just ungrateful given everything that Mr Thawne had done for the world.

He had a flash of something. It was the man who had run into him. It was almost as if he’d seen him somewhere before in different clothes, with a long coat, but he couldn’t place him. It was probably just a reaction to a long day and being thumped hard into the floor. He could feel a slight headache coming on. He shrugged and continued on with his mopping.

By the time he’d finished mopping up the water, it was getting late and he still had several cells to clean. He’d been given a list of empty cells and when they would be unoccupied. Mostly they just needed sluicing down for new occupants, which was easy enough. Some of them were already occupied, but the prisoners were in interrogation or at the labs. Those cells required various levels of cleaning, and the waste buckets needed emptying. Sometimes prisoners had thrown food around the cell, or… other things that he preferred not to think about. He knew that some of the prisoners were not right in the head, and often behaved weirdly. Maybe that was why the man who had crashed into him had thought he knew him. He was glad that this wasn’t his usual area to work in. He preferred cleaning floors and toilets on the upper floors to this rather depressing place.

He was about to pack up for the day when he saw the guards returning a prisoner to his cell, and he recognised him as the man from earlier. He was limping, and being shoved along, making him stumble and fall. The guards threw him into the cell and closed the door behind the prisoner. At least the unfortunate man had a clean cell to come back to. The guards walked away, oblivious to the man lying in the cell, or Ray looking at them. The pipeline was regarded as being so secure that it didn’t need permanent guards, they only came down to remove prisoners or lock them up.

Ray watched as the man stirred and rather feebly attempted to sit up. Ray felt bad for him. He was clearly in a lot of pain. Ray went over to the cell and saw him push himself to the back and then use the wall to help him sit. He finally came to rest leaning in the corner, breathing hard from the work of just moving. He opened his eyes and looked out at Ray.

“Uh, hello,” said Rip, with confusion.

“Hi,” said Ray. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

“My fault,” said Rip, closing his eyes again. His voice sounded tired. “Wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“You called me Ray. How did you know my name?” he asked.

The eyes peeled open again. “You don’t remember, but we used to know each other.”

Ray frowned, he really didn’t remember, but something about the man was familiar. Lately, he’d been getting a very strong feeling that something wasn’t right, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was. He’d decided that it was just his imagination and ignored it, but now there was someone in front of him who was setting off the same sense in spades.

“How did I know you?”

“You were part of my crew,” said Rip. “I had a time ship and we protected the timeline. I realise how crazy that must sound, but it’s the truth.”

“Huh,” said Ray. This prisoner was clearly mad, but he was also entertaining. “What did you say your name was?”

“Rip Hunter, Captain of the Waverider, at your service,” he mumbled, his eyes fixed on the floor.

“So, if you were the Captain, then who was I? The cabin boy? Chief bottle washer? First mate?” he smiled.

Rip let out a small laugh, which turned into a cough and Ray had to wait for him to finish before he could speak again.

“You were our resident genius inventor and a superhero,” said Rip. “You had an exoskeleton suit which allowed you to shrink.”

“Cool,” said Ray. “I was a superhero.” He liked that idea a lot.

Rip nodded.

“How did we end up here then?” he asked.

“One of our enemies gained control of a reality altering artefact and this is what he chose to do with it.” Rip blinked tiredly. “Apparently he wiped your memories and gave you a new life.”

Ray shrugged. “I’ve worked here since I left school at sixteen.”

“That’s your false memories talking,” said Rip, with a gesture in his direction. “You actually have multiple PhDs and owned your own company.”

Ray laughed at that, but then noticed Rip’s expression, still serious. “You weren’t joking. Sorry, I’m not very smart.”

“It’s not your fault,” said Rip. There was silence between them for a moment, as Ray just looked at the man, taking in the way he had his arm wrapped around his chest.

“They hurt you, didn’t they?” Ray was a little concerned. He didn’t like the idea of anyone being hurt, but he knew that the prisoners deserved it because they’d done such bad things. He wondered what Rip had done to be put in the pipeline.

“Yes,” said Rip, “they did, and I fear this is just the beginning. You shouldn’t be seen talking to me. It’s dangerous.”

Ray shook his head. “No one really pays attention to me. I just keep my head down. Besides, the guards don’t come down here unless they’re taking someone to interrogation or the labs.”

Rip rolled his head to the side. “Of course,” he said, somewhat miserably. “Why worry what your prisoners are doing when the cells are completely inescapable?”

“I guess,” said Ray, with a slight shrug.

“I suppose you letting me out of here is out of the question?”

“Sorry, I don’t have the code for the door,” said Ray, “and there are alarms that go off for unauthorised access. You seem like a nice guy. I’d let you out if I could.”

Rip let out a sigh. “Don’t worry. I’ve been through worse and survived.”

Ray nodded. “Anyway, that’s the end of my shift. I’ve got to go. I don’t normally work down here, so I don’t know if I’ll see you again.”

Rip rested his head back against the wall, looking out at Ray. “Mr Palmer, you have been a bright spot in an otherwise rather miserable day. Please, continue to keep your head down and stay safe.”

Ray gave the prisoner a small smile and a dip of his head. He grabbed his bucket and mop, and walked away, not expecting to see Rip Hunter again. It was a fun story that he’d been told, but he certainly wasn’t smart enough to be a genius inventor, so a story was all it was. Still, it was kind of nice to daydream about a world where he was more than just a janitor and he got to have space adventures. He headed back to his bed in the basement room that he’d taken over as his own. No one bothered him down there, and he went to sleep dreaming of flying in the air and firing blue beams of energy at bad guys with his team of superhero friends.

The following day, he was cleaning one of the many corridors in his area and he saw Rip again. This time he was in handcuffs and being shoved along the corridor by some guards towards one of the interrogation room. He was moving stiffly, with a slight limp and guarding the left side of his chest as best he could. However, he was walking unaided, which was better than being dragged along a corridor.

Ray made himself scarce as the guards approached by ducking around a corner, having no wish to tangle with them again. He watched as they opened a door into a room, and escorted Rip inside. Ray got a glimpse of the interior before they shut the door and he got a feeling that the equipment in the room had some very unpleasant uses.

Mr Thawne stood in the room beside what looked like a dentist’s chair, but with less padding. Thawne was disentangling some wires and smiled as the prisoner entered.

“Good to see you, Rip,” said Thawne.

“Eobard,” said Rip, managing to get disdain even into that one word.

“I hope you’ve enjoyed your cell these last weeks,” said Thawne.

“I’ve slept in worse,” replied Rip, appearing disinterested.

“I can guarantee that you’ll long for its comforts by the time I’m done with you,” said Thawne, removing his jacket and hanging it on a hook on the wall. He began to roll up his sleeves.

“Really, Eobard, torture? It’s not exactly a reliable means of extracting information. I’m never going to give you the location of any of the artefacts that you think might threaten your ultimate power. You know that I’ll die first,” said Rip, and Ray thought he sounded surprisingly confident and sanguine considering the topic of conversation.

“Oh, you’ll wish for death,” replied Thawne, “and in the meantime, I get to have a lot of fun extracting my revenge for every single wild goose chase that you sent me on to find the Spear.”

The door closed, and Ray didn’t get to hear how the conversation continued. He was actually quite grateful for that. He didn’t like the way it seemed to be going. Mr Thawne was supposed to be a good man, not someone who tortured a prisoner for revenge or information. Mr Thawne had basically saved the world and was respected by everyone. He was personal friends with the President of the United States of America and generally regarded as one of the good guys.

Still, this was way above his pay grade. He was a janitor. He cleaned floors. What Mr Thawne did was none of his business.

The screaming that came from the interrogation room was, also, none of his business.

***

Rip felt terrible. When they dumped him back in his cell he was barely conscious, and he could still feel the electricity coursing through his body as Thawne interrogated him. His limbs hadn’t forgotten either and they convulsed at the memory of the electrical signals. He twitched involuntarily even now.

“Where is the Crown of Thorns? The Holy Grail? The Robe? The Bachal Isu? The Helmet of Constantine? The Veil of Veronica? Give me one of them and this can all stop. I’m a reasonable man. I know that the Time Masters were aware of their locations and protected them. I know that you didn’t believe the Time Masters could be trusted with their power. Can any of them destroy the Spear? Can any of the artefacts stop the Spear? Why can’t the Spear bring them to me?”

The questions went on and on. At first, he’d tried to be stoic, but at some point, he’d given in and just screamed. The screaming actually helped because at least he had an outlet for the pain, but Thawne had clearly found it amusing. Rip was annoyed with himself because of that alone. His one victory had been that he hadn’t divulged anything, in fact, he’d remained wordlessly uncommunicative throughout. Eventually Thawne had tired of his games and decided that he was done for the day. At least partly this was because Rip was barely conscious and definitely unable to answer even if he’d wanted to.

Rip tried to push himself up off the floor of his cell. It smelt vaguely of lemon cleaning fluid, which struck him as incongruent. He put his palms flat on the floor and tried to persuade his limbs to brace him as he moved.

“Hey,” said a familiar voice. “You should stay down for a little while. They did a number on you.”

Rip opened his eyes and looked out through the glass of his cell door. “Mr Palmer,” he said, breathing hard from the pain in his muscles. The man was stood there observing him and looking somewhat nervous. “I thought you didn’t normally work in the pipeline.”

“I don’t, but I have a room in the basement here. I decided to come and visit. I’m not exactly supposed to be here but I… er… I thought… er… I actually… don’t know what I thought, or what I’m doing here,” said Ray, with a shrug. “But I brought you something.” He pushed open the small hatch at the bottom of the cell door, where usually they posted through his food trays. Ray produced a bottle of water, unscrewed the top just enough to break the seal, and rolled it across the cell floor to him.

“Thank you,” said Rip, earnestly, receiving it gratefully. He hadn’t been given any water since this morning. With uncooperative limbs, he rolled onto his side and he fumbled at the cap of the bottle of water, finally unscrewing the top. He raised his head just enough that he could sip the water without spilling too much. “This is _the_ best water I have tasted in some time.”

He wasn’t joking either, it tasted heavenly and it was definitely the best water he’d drunk in quite a while. Probably since Vandal Savage had imprisoned him in an Egyptian jail and tried to starve him into submission. You only realised how good water was when you’d been deprived of it, in Rip’s experience. Thawne was being slightly more direct in his methods than Savage. Quite frankly Vandal Savage was looking like a rank amateur compared to Eobard Thawne at the moment. His limbs were still tingling unpleasantly and he had several small burns on his arms from where contact had been made with the electrical wires. He still couldn’t stop twitching either, which was thoroughly annoying.

Rip looked over at Ray. He was wearing the uniform of a STAR Labs employee and his name tag proclaimed him to be a janitor. He was also wearing his baseball cap on backwards, which definitely wasn’t something that his Ray would do, but there was a lot of the old Ray in this man, even if he wasn’t quite the same.

“So, I suppose I’d better go,” said Ray.

Rip frowned. “Actually, I wouldn’t mind some company.” He didn’t really want to be alone with his thoughts right now.

Ray looked at him like he didn’t know what to say to that, but he didn’t leave.

“I washed your cell earlier. At least you can have somewhere clean to recover,” said Ray, with a shrug. “I hope you don’t mind lemon scented.”

Rip let out a half laugh at the absurdity of all. “I’m sure it will be fine.” He attempted to sit himself up again and this time he managed to make it. He leaned back against the cell wall.

Ray sat down on the floor on the opposite side of the glass. “I was wondering about that story you told me. The one where I’m a genius inventor. I was wondering, what did I do? Did I save people?”

Rip allowed a small smile to crawl across his lips. “Yes, perhaps you will permit me to tell you a little more about your life before all this?”

Ray nodded, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. This man was still mostly the Ray Palmer that Rip had known. “Cool, story time, that sounds awesome.”

“Okay. Well, where shall I start? I suppose I should begin with how you saved the life of Hawkgirl, the reincarnated form of the hawk goddess, Chay-Ara. It was early on in our acquaintance, and Hawkgirl had been injured and was at death’s door. She had fought a madman who had a magic dagger and despite bravely fighting him to stand still, she had been stabbed with his blade. Normally, my ship’s medical facilities would have been sufficient to heal her, but pieces of the dagger had broken off inside her and were moving towards her heart. Even the advanced technology that I possessed could not have saved her. You immediately began working on ways to save her life.”

Rip continued the story, pausing in places to sip more water, and only embellishing events very slightly. Ray had been quite heroic without any need to add to the story. His audience was rapt, hanging on his every word, and the disappointment when he finished was obvious. Unfortunately, Rip was tiring and whilst he would have liked to tell Ray more, he didn’t know what the following day would bring, and he needed rest.

“Wow, this is so amazing. The Atom is the greatest. You should be, like, a writer or something,” said Ray.

Rip smiled and gave a short laugh. “My current circumstances would preclude any such activity, I’m afraid.”

“Can you tell me another one?” asked Ray, childlike in his excitement. “Something else that the Atom did?”

“I’m sorry, Mr Palmer, but I don’t think I have the energy tonight. Perhaps another time,” said Rip, shuffling himself across the cell to the foam pad that served as his bed. It didn’t provide much comfort, but it was better than just sleeping on the floor.

“Right, sorry, you must be tired,” said Ray. “I’ll go.”

The janitor got to his feet.

“Do you mind if I come back?” he asked.

Rip shook his head, settling down for the night. “Not at all. In fact, I believe I would be quite pleased to see you. However, it is important that you don’t put yourself in danger. Take appropriate precautions to hide your movements if you come again.”

Ray looked a little perplexed but then he seemed to understand. “Okay, so basically be inconspicuous. I’m good at that.”

Rip watched him leave and then closed his eyes, hoping that he’d at least be able to sleep well despite the aches. The fact that Ray was alive, and still so very like his old self, gave him hope. At least Eobard hadn’t erased him from existence, so there was now the strong possibility that the rest of the Legends were out there somewhere and would come to rescue him. Things were definitely not as dire as he’d feared they might be.

The following day, he reconsidered his thoughts of the previous night and decided that he had spoken too soon. Thawne had attempted to drown him, several times. Rip was strapped to a table on a pivot and his head lowered, then a cloth was placed over his face and water was poured on it until he began to choke and drown. His brain told him that he was dying on multiple occasions and it felt like he was really drowning even though he knew that it was just a stream of water. How anyone had ever considered this not to be torture, he didn’t know. Waterboarding was miserable and enough to make him never want to take a shower ever again.

The session went on for a long time and by the end of it he was barely coherent. He was coughing and half out of it with hypoxia and fear. He was dumped on the floor of his cell without ceremony and he tried to regain his wits, sucking in lungfuls of water-free oxygen. He had no idea how long he lay there, just trying to get the memory of drowning out of his head, but then a familiar voice spoke to him.

“Hey,” he said.

Rip opened his eyes and saw Ray. “Hello,” he croaked.

He noticed that someone had brought him his food at some point and he hadn’t even noticed. The meal was cold, but it would still be better than not eating at all.

The Time Masters had trained him even in this. When captured, a Time Master’s duty was first and foremost to survive, and that meant eating whatever food was available and drinking liquid. Secondly you resisted whatever the enemy wanted you to do, whether that was answer their questions or give them your ship. Thirdly, if an opportunity presented, you attempted to escape. Rip was working on all three, but none of them were easy.

He sat up and reached for the food, and noticed Ray watching him. He seemed to be thinking. Perhaps wondering how you started a conversation with someone locked in a cell.

“Would you like to hear another story about the Atom?” asked Rip, taking a bite of a piece of bread.

Ray nodded with enthusiasm, but then his face fell. “I’m sorry that they hurt you again.”

Rip waved off his concern. “There’s really nothing to be done about it. I won’t talk and Mr Thawne is determined to make me. The unstoppable force has hit the immovable object. Neither of us will get what we want, but Thawne isn’t going let that bother him. Now, perhaps you would like to hear about the time the Atom saved the Waverider from Time Pirates?”

Ray again nodded with open eagerness. Rip allowed himself to smile back, and related the story of how the Atom had defended the ship, fixed a hole in the hull that had them venting oxygen, and fought off a turncoat team member and a group of Time Pirates. He may have given Ray a slightly improved role in all of that, but it was worth the look of happiness on Mr Palmer’s face.

Rip slept better that night, but Thawne filled the next week with alternating water torture and electricity. Rip’s days were occupied with agonising pain, and the refusal to talk, but at least he had interesting evenings to look forwards to. He found himself hanging on to that as Eobard Thawne questioned him again about the whereabouts of the Crown of Thorns. Ray, and good people like him, were the entire reason why he couldn’t give up the location of any of the artefacts that Thawne wanted.

Ray visited him faithfully every evening and each night Rip told him a new story of how the Atom had saved the day. He told Ray about the Atom’s heroism in Russia, being beaten up to save a team mate, and his fight with the huge robot leviathan. He described Ray’s Wild West foray into law enforcement and his doomed romance with the Hawk goddess. He talked about how the Atom had once been marooned in the past and then helped to rescue a team mate from Nanda Parbat.

Rip knew that Thawne would change tactics if his first choice of torture didn’t work, and when the new week began, Thawne decided to move on from less invasive techniques. He had him flogged for every question he failed to answer. He had begun by hanging Rip by his wrists from the ceiling, ensuring that he had to stand on tip toe to remove the weight from his arms, something which was totally unsustainable as soon as the punishment to his body began. By the end of the day’s torture his back was burning with white hot fire from the lashes laid across it and even the slightest movement was almost more than he could bear. His shoulders also hurt in a way that he’d never experienced before and it was agonising. He considered himself lucky that he hadn’t dislocated them with his weight.

He had passed out and awoken to someone tending to the wounds. He was bound by his hands and feet, lying face down on a bed. Hands touched him, without his permission, painfully rubbing something into his cuts. Eobard Thawne was watching with a critical eye.

“Wouldn’t want these to become infected now, would we?” he said, seeing Rip’s eyes open and watching him. “I have quite a lot more planned for you before I allow you to die.”

Rip huffed out air and closed his eyes again. “I have no interest in your ridiculous, comic-book-villain taunts, Eobard.”

“Take care, Rip,” said Eobard. “I can just as easily string you up again and we can go another round.”

“But you won’t, because you need to let me heal a little before you inflict more pain on me,” said Rip, fixing Thawne with a glare. “I know how this works, and if I die then you get nothing.”

“Oh absolutely, and it’s a very pleasant game, to watch you suffer and then let you recover just enough before I start again. However, you’d do well to remember that I have nothing _now_ , so if you die then I just have to live with the status quo. Tragic, I admit, but not disastrous. Whereas you don’t get to live at all and I’ll make it my life’s mission to ensure that every single remaining minute of your existence is a burning hell of pain.”

“Six out of ten,” said Rip.

“What?” asked Eobard.

“Your marks out of ten for your villainous threats. Six out of ten, could do better,” said Rip.

Eobard’s anger didn’t take much to ignite and clearly Rip had hit a nerve. Defiance was definitely one of Rip’s strong suits, and it briefly amused him to have caused such a reaction. The look on his captor’s face was incandescent rage and Rip had only a moment to realise that his remark was going to cost him. Thawne picked up a scalpel and stabbed it into Rip’s shoulder. Rip cried out at the sudden pain, pulling against the restraints.

“My eloquence isn’t really that important here, is it, Rip?” said Thawne. “I’m quite capable of physically demonstrating my point. I have the upper hand and I really hope you keep testing me, because breaking you is going to be all the more interesting for it.”

This time Rip said nothing for several seconds, and just willed the bright, red, flare of pain to go away.

“I’m not going to give you what you want, Eobard,” he said, so quietly that Thawne had to get close to hear him. “I’m _never_ going to give you what you want.”

“Then the rest of your short life is going to be very unpleasant,” said Thawne, dropping the scalpel back on the tray. He left Rip to the stinging application of antiseptic on his wounds.

He was very glad to be returned to his cell, where all he had to worry about was the coldness of the floor. He dozed on and off fitfully, the soreness jerking him back to wakefulness every so often, until the evening.

“Oh my god!” said a familiar voice. “What did they do to you?”

Rip was somewhat amused by Ray’s reaction to his current state. Ray was already aware of why Rip was here, and that he spent his days in the company of Eobard Thawne being continually questioned and caused pain. He supposed that the janitor had been able to ignore that whilst Rip had no obvious bruises or cuts. His prison jumpsuit was currently open to the waist and pushed down to expose his back because it was too painful to do anything else. The lash marks were on full display for Ray to see, despite the fact that Rip would have preferred not to have let him see them. He didn’t have the strength at the moment to move and re-clothe himself.

“Hello, Raymond,” Rip murmured. He forced his eyes to open and found that Ray had his hands on the glass of the cell and was pressed up against it as if he could push through it.

“What can I do?” asked Ray, clearly upset. “There has to be something that I can do.”

Rip rolled himself onto his side, slowly, trying to avoid pulling the wounds on his back too much. “There’s nothing you can do, Ray,” replied Rip. “If you try to help me then you’ll be putting yourself in danger, and Thawne has no reason to keep you alive if you start to cause trouble.”

“But they really hurt you this time,” said Ray. “Your back…” He trailed off, unable to finish.

“I imagine it looks a mess, but it will heal,” said Rip. Without the Waverider’s medbay facilities it would leave him with a pattern of scars that would never fade, but, as he’d said, it would heal and he would be fine. “Thawne isn’t going to kill me, I have information that he wants.”

He _was_ going to make his existence thoroughly miserable though, and he probably would eventually kill him, once he got bored with Rip’s refusal to answer his questions, but Ray didn’t need to know that. Rip knew that he was on borrowed time and had already made his peace with it.

Ray was looking like a small boy whose dog had died. This Ray felt more innocent than the one Rip was used to. He didn’t have the practical knowledge of the cruelties of the world that Ray had picked up when his fiancée had been killed. This Ray, without his intelligence, still had his emotional vulnerability, his need to do good in the world, and Rip was worried that would cause problems. The next words out of Ray’s mouth confirmed his worries.

“But I can’t let them keep doing this to you.”

“You can,” said Rip, sternly. “You can, and you will. You’re far more important than I am.”

“I’m just a janitor,” said Ray, shaking his head. “And it’s not like I have many friends. Any really.” He sat down with his back against the glass. “I kind of like your stories. They make me feel like maybe I could actually be something, something more than just a janitor.”

Rip blinked at Ray. Sometimes he forgot that this was Thawne’s idea of hell for Ray too. The reason Ray had become the Atom was because he wanted to make a difference and Thawne had clearly known that. Being a janitor at STAR Labs was the complete antithesis of being a superhero. Ray was totally powerless and unable to even help Rip get out of this jail cell.

“You _are_ something more,” said Rip. “I promise you. You just don’t remember it.” He sighed, feeling sore and tired. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I’m up to telling you more about the Atom tonight.”

“I could tell you a story, for a change,” said Ray, turning back towards Rip. “I had this dream last night and it was kind of like the stories that you’ve been telling me, but there was a new character, a guy who could turn into metal.”

Rip’s eyes widened for a moment. This was an interesting development. “You’re remembering Nate Heywood, Steel. That’s his superpower. You gave it to him, actually.”

“I did?” asked Ray.

“Yes, you created a formula which gave him the ability to heal and turn into metal. He was a haemophiliac but you cured him and gave him his powers as a side effect.”

“I dreamed that we were fighting Japanese samurai and the Atom lost his suit,” said Ray.

“Why don’t you tell me about it? Start from the beginning?” said Rip, and Ray did. Rip listened with amusement to an account of one of the missions that he’d missed whilst he was away. He fell asleep to the sound of Ray’s voice, anchoring himself to the familiar tones and letting himself use it as a source of comfort.

***

Ray was concerned about Rip. He always was to be honest, but a new round of torture had started at the beginning of the week and this seemed to be hitting his friend hard. Rip wouldn’t say what they’d done this time and he could hardly speak from the pain that he was in anyway. There were nights when they didn’t return him to his cell and Ray didn’t like to think what was happening to him. Ray studiously cleaned Rip’s cell so that he always had somewhere spotless to recover, but Ray constantly felt inadequate and like he was colluding with Rip’s captors by doing nothing. However, every time he suggested trying anything to rescue Rip, the prisoner told him firmly that he was not to even try because it was too dangerous.

When Ray next visited, they had returned Rip to the cell with broken fingers on his right hand, possibly a broken arm, and probably done worse that Ray couldn’t see. There were new bruises on his face.

“Do you want some water?” he asked, inadequately.

Rip gave a slight shake of his head as he took in another shuddering breath, eyes squeezed shut against the hurt. “Just… talk to me,” he said in barely more than a whisper. “It helps… to know… not alone.”

“I dreamt about something else last night,” said Ray, trying to be upbeat for Rip. “I guess I’ve been spending so much time with you that you’ve started appearing in my dreams. Rip Hunter, a former Time Master, was one of four guardians of the Spear of Destiny…” He related to Rip the entire story, even though he didn’t know what the ending was, but he’d probably dream it another night. Rip seemed amused by that. He waited with Rip while he fell into a shallow, disturbed sleep, and cursed himself again for not being brave enough to get his friend out of his prison.

The weird thing was that he was more and more getting the feeling that Rip wasn’t living in a fantasy world, or telling him stories, it was rather the other way around. Ray was the one who was living the wrong life, and he’d had a strong urge to start tinkering with machines and building things. When he wasn’t working or talking to Rip, he was usually playing video games and eating takeaway, and he knew he wasn’t smart enough to invent things, but that didn’t seem to stop him. Lately he’d started writing a list of parts for something he was calling a “transreality multiplexer”.

It was a cool sounding name for a device that he hadn’t yet discerned the purpose of, but he needed some magnets, and he knew where he could find them because he’d seen them in one of the labs. He intended on discussing his plan to steal the magnets with Rip because the guy seemed like he’d have some useful advice to offer, but he’d got distracted and forgotten the time. That evening he’d come to the cell later than usual to find Rip shivering violently, curled up on his side.

He knelt beside the glass.

“Rip…?”

Eyes with wide, black pupils opened and looked out at him. “I can’t sleep,” said Rip, shakily, “I keep trying, but they gave me something…” The shivers subsided for a moment.

“Drugs?” asked Ray.

Rip nodded, and then a violent shudder ran through his body. He groaned, clearly in some pain. “Sorry, not good company tonight.”

“Hey, that’s not really why I come down here,” said Ray, pressing his hand to the glass. “I need some advice. I keep wanting to build stuff, and I don’t know why or what it does. Do you think that’s something to do with the Atom and all the other stuff you told me?”

Another shudder ran through Rip’s body and he began to shiver again. He couldn’t answer until the tremors had stopped again. Ray waited, unsure what to do and feeling like he should be able to help, but knew there wasn’t anything he could do. Rip was on one side of the glass and he was on the other. He had no idea how to bypass the lock or what the code was, and even if he could open the door, alarms would sound and guards would come running.

“It could be,” said Rip, his voice weak. “The Spear may not be perfect in its rearrangement of reality.” He had to take a deep breath before continuing. “It is possible that there are minute cracks to be found.” Then he stopped again as he tensed against another shudder. Whatever had been done to Rip wasn’t getting any better. “The cracks in reality may be why you dream about your old life sometimes.”

Ray nodded. He had no idea what Rip was really talking about but he could understand the idea that something was making him dream about being the Atom. At first, he’d assumed that it was just his brain feeding off Rip’s stories about superheroes and time travel, but when he’d started dreaming about things that Rip hadn’t told him about, that was when he began to wonder if there was more to it.

“So, I want to build something called a transreality multiplexer,” said Ray. “My brain is telling me to build it, but I have no idea why. I think it’s like ctrl-z for memories.”

“Control zee?” asked Rip, between the shivers that were back again.

“That’s the undo command on a computer,” said Ray, waving a hand with excitement. “Why would I even need that?”

“To fix your memories,” said Rip, lifting his head to look at Ray with sudden interest. “Build it,” he said, firmly, and then rested his head back on the floor tiredly. He was still having trouble getting the words out between shivers. Ray could see that there was a slight dampness to Rip’s skin and he looked wired, like he’d drunk too much strong coffee.

“Okay,” said Ray. “I’ll start collecting what I need.”

The shivering slowed and Rip uncurled slightly with a relieved sigh.

“Ray, I’m going to give you some names. If these people come to you, ask them if they know what a Waverider is. If they do then they’re friends. Don’t trust them otherwise. Do you understand?”

Ray nodded. Something about this was sounding unusually final. Rip’s tone was different.

“But I can bring them to you,” said Ray.

Rip shook his head. “Too dangerous and I may not be around much longer. Thawne’s getting increasingly frustrated with me.”

“I’ll find a way to get you out…” began Ray.

“No,” said Rip, sharply. “You need to finish your project. Nothing else matters.” Rip shuddered painfully. “You need to know these names. Repeat after me: Sara Lance, Jefferson Jackson, Martin Stein, Amaya Jiwe, Nate Heywood.”

Ray repeated the names until Rip was satisfied that he had remembered them. Rip corrected him if he stumbled, stuttering as more tremors ran through his body. Ray had hoped the effects of whatever Rip had been dosed with would fade as the evening went on, but he was looking worse if anything.

“If you finish the transreality multiplexer…” said Rip, so tired now that he was barely audible through the glass of the cell. “If they don’t come to you…” Again, he was prevented from finishing by a shudder that robbed him of the ability to speak. “You find them, Ray,” he managed, breathing hard. “You go find them.”

Rip gasped in pain as a spasm hit more violently than the previous ones.

“Rip?” asked Ray with concern.

“Nothing to be done,” said Rip, his eyes trying to focus on Ray. There was resignation in his voice, but it turned to determination as he edged closer to the glass wall of his cell. He rolled over so that he could reach out a hand and put his fingertips on the glass. Ray matched it on the other side of the cell with his own hand. It was the closest he could come to offering any kind of comfort.

“Promise me,” said Rip. His very breathing sounded pained. “No matter what… you protect yourself… stay alive… finish the project… find the names… fix this.”

“But I can’t just leave you like this…” said Ray.

“You can and you must,” said Rip, emphatically. His body wanted to shiver again but he was fighting against it with all his being, eyes screwed shut at the effort. “I’m not important… _you’re_ important. You need to stay out of trouble… Promise me that you won’t try to save me.”

Ray hesitated in his reply, and Rip summoned strength from somewhere, although Ray couldn’t fathom where. His eyes were open again and looking straight at Ray.

“Promise me!” he said, in what was probably supposed to be an emphatic shout, but was just louder and more forceful than his usual whisper.

Ray had tears in his eyes and he didn’t care. “I promise, okay? I promise I’ll finish the transreality multiplexer, and I promise I’ll stay out of trouble.” He closed his eyes as water escaped the edges of his eyelids. “I promise I’ll find the people you told me about and I won’t… I won’t try to save you.”

“Thank you,” said Rip, with relief, giving in to the tremors again.

“But I’m not leaving,” said Ray, stubbornly. “There’s got to be something I can do for you. Get you water? Or something to eat?”

“Just… talk to me.” Rip met Ray’s eyes for a fleeting moment before he looked away. It wasn’t the first time he’d asked him to do this small thing and Ray had always been happy to do it, because it was better than nothing.

Ray still had his palm still pressed against the glass, even though Rip had brought his own hand back to wrap around his tortured body. He took a deep breath and began.

“Okay, so I dreamed a good one the other night. Did I tell you about how the Atom met the Green Arrow…?”

Ray talked until he had no voice, and Rip failed to sleep, because how could he when he was basically high and his muscles refused to rest. Rip described it as like his blood was buzzing with energy as it moved around his body, and his brain wouldn’t slow down or be quiet. Ray’s words helped quiet his brain enough for some respite, but he still couldn’t actually rest. Eventually, he told Ray to leave and get some sleep, and Ray reluctantly did because they both knew there was nothing else useful that he could do. It wouldn’t help Rip for Ray to be just as sleep deprived as his friend.

Ray went to work as usual in the morning, and had trouble concentrating on the task at hand. Suddenly mopping the floor didn’t seem important. He was desperate to get the magnets that he needed and spend time working on his project until he could sneak into the pipeline and visit Rip. He knew he’d promised, and Ray believed in keeping promises, but he couldn’t resist making the start of a plan to break Rip out. Maybe he’d get to put it into action if he found the names on Rip’s list.

Rip was worse when Ray visited that night, and it went on for days. Rip was injected with the drug and then left in his cell to shiver and shudder, uncomfortably wired and unable to sleep. The number of hours he had been awake was growing worryingly. Ray didn’t know how long the human body could be deprived of sleep, but he knew that it didn’t feel good after even a couple of days, and Rip had already gone much longer than that. Every time Ray visited, his friend was less coherent, until he barely responded at all. Rip stared off into the distance and muttered, shivering and his muscles spasming as the drug coursed through his system.

Sometimes Ray thought he heard him say his name, but it was rare, and more often he heard him call out softly for someone called Jonas, or Miranda. Once he said the he was coming to join them and he almost sounded happy. It was only because it was so unusual that Ray took note. Ray visited every night and talked as much as he could. Even now, Rip still seemed to be listening sometimes and would reach out a hand to touch the glass, turn his head and make eye contact, before returning to wherever his mind had gone.

The only good thing in all of this was that he was progressing with his transreality multiplexer. He’d managed to appropriate the magnets that he needed for his mind-altering gun and he’d captured a rat, that he was calling Tesla, so that he could test the gun on it when he did get it finished. He just needed maybe another day or so to get it working and then he’d be done.

That night, he sat down outside Rip’s cell as usual and was pleased to see that the man wasn’t muttering or shivering today. His eyes were shut, but he was curled up on his side facing the glass wall of the cell.

“Hey, so I’ve got good news,” said Ray, not really expecting to get an answer.

He was pleasantly surprised when Rip mumbled, “wish I could say the same.”

“You’re talking,” said Ray. “I mean you’re making sense.”

“No drugs today,” said Rip, “at least not that one.” He pulled his arms around himself, as if he was cold. “Going to be a while before I can sleep. Still too high.”

“Well, at least you’ll be able to sleep once they’re out of your system,” said Ray.

“What was your good news?” asked Rip, eyes still shut. Ray noticed that he didn’t agree.

“I’ve almost got the transreality multiplexer working,” said Ray. “I reckon another day and it’ll be finished.”

Rip said nothing, a slight shudder running through him, although not as bad as it had been over the last few days.

“Rip?” asked Ray. “Did you fall asleep on me?” He was going to leave now if that was the case. It had been days since Rip had slept and he needed it more than anything else.

Rip muttered something to himself. He was still in the grips of the drug that he’d been given, but at least there seemed to be some lucidity breaking though.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that,” said Ray.

“New game today,” said Rip, seemingly unconnected to anything. “I think it might be worse.”

“Rip?”

Rip’s eyelids flew open and suddenly Ray realised what the new game was. Rip’s eyes were both a milky grey where once there had been green irises and black pupils. Thawne had blinded his prisoner.

Ray let out a gasp of surprise.

“Rip, can you see?”

Rip shook his head. “They hurt.”

He was shivering again, trembling, and Rip groaned as his muscles contracted involuntarily. Ray could see that Rip’s eyes were shining with unshed tears, that he was rapidly blinking away. He didn’t know if that was from pain or emotion, but it didn’t really matter.

“Just… talk to me… please,” said Rip, weakly. “I need to hear something.”

Ray swallowed his own tears. Words spilled out, without much thought behind them. He just needed to talk to help his friend.

“It’ll be okay. I just need one more day to finish the transreality multiplexer and then I’ll be able to track down the names you gave me. Once I’ve done that I can come back and rescue you. Yeah, it’ll be fine. I know I promised not to rescue you, but that was on my own, if I have help then it’ll be good and I don’t think that’s breaking my promise. I’m the Atom, right? So I’ve got to be able to do it. Find the White Canary, Firestorm, Steel, Vixen… Okay, maybe I should just tell you another story…”

Rip was muttering to himself again, but Ray wasn’t deterred. Rip had asked him to talk so he was going to talk. He started with the first story that Rip had ever told him and tried to fill in the bits that he’d seen in his dreams. He rambled on about the things that his brain was telling him to build that he’d never even heard of before, let alone known how to construct. He described the Atom’s suit in excruciating detail and how he was considering doing cosplay of the Atom at the STAR Labs Christmas party this year. He didn’t think he’d gone in previous years because he couldn’t remember what he’d dressed up as.

Rip was incoherent and not responding again by the end of the night. He’d been lucky to get even the brief window of lucidity that he’d experienced he guessed. He sighed, hanging his head.

“Rip, I’m not sure what you can hear or understand, and I know I’m just a janitor and not very bright, but you have to hang in there for just another couple of days,” said Ray. “I swear I’ll have the gun finished by then. And whatever the hell it does, there’s got to be a reason why my brain is telling me to build it. You said it was important that I finish it, so it has to be important. Just don’t go anywhere before I can do whatever it is that I need to do, and fix this.”

He looked at his friend’s unseeing eyes and he wanted to scream and yell, but he didn’t. He got to his feet.

“I’ll be back tomorrow night no matter what,” he said, and left to return to his basement den to get a few hours’ sleep.

***

Mick Rory was not on the list of names, but two days later when Mick and Nate entered his basement domain just as he was taking a break from working on the reality gun, he realised he hadn’t asked Rip what he did if they weren’t on the list and asked him questions.

Mick uncovered his reality gun, which he’d hidden under a cloth just in case anyone wandered in whilst he was working. He’d been about to test the gun on the rat he’d captured, but he’d balked at hurting the animal at the last moment. He’d stopped to eat and play his favourite video game for half an hour just so that he could think out what his next move should be. It was too early to sneak into the pipeline to see Rip yet and the last couple of visits had been very one sided. After a very brief respite, probably because they needed him semi-coherent to question, they’d started injecting Rip with the insomnia drug again. Rip hadn’t slept properly for seven days now, and Ray was feeling disheartened and impotent.

Then Mick had grabbed the gun and everything had turned into a chaotic descent into the rabbit hole. Ray now knew without a doubt that he was Dr Ray Palmer, the Atom, and he understood why Rip had made him learn the list of names and why Mick wasn’t on the list, and why he deserved the punch Ray gave him. He knew what the Spear of Destiny was and why this world wasn’t their world. Assassins arrived to attack them and there was some ineffectual fighting with Sara and Amaya. They managed to shoot Sara with the reality gun, but Amaya ran before they could use the gun on her too.

“The Legion will be on their way to kill us,” said Nate.

“We can’t go anywhere. We need to rescue Rip,” said Ray, already casting around his workspace for the plan of STAR Labs that he’d hidden there.

“He’s here?” asked Sara.

“Yeah, Thawne’s been holding him in the pipeline and, er, torturing him for information. He’s been trying everything to get him to break, and so far, he hasn’t, but it’s been months. He’s barely hanging in there. I promised him that I’d finish the reality gun and find you all before I came to rescue him, but I don’t think he has much time. He said that Thawne was getting frustrated with him,” Ray finished.

“Shit,” said Sara. “We’re not equipped to be rescuing people from prisons.”

“You may not be, but I am,” said Mick. “Snart and I broke out of more jails than I can count.”

“But Snart isn’t here,” said Sara. “Or at least not the right one.”

“We were partners,” said Mick. “I’m not just a pretty face. I’m an expert at being a criminal.”

Sara gave a slight nod in concession to that with an affirmative raise of her eyebrows.

“He has a point,” said Ray.

“What about Amaya?” asked Nate.

“Give me the gun. I’m going back for her,” said Sara. “Hopefully no one will have noticed that I’m not still under the Legion’s control and I can get to Amaya before she tells anyone what’s going on. While I’m gone, you guys need to find us somewhere that we can hide, and plan how we break Rip out of jail.”

“Sara, we can’t leave Rip here,” said Ray, “Thawne’s torturing him and he’s suffering.”

“I understand that, Ray,” said Sara, “but it won’t do him any good if we get captured too, and with Amaya we’ll have a better chance of pulling this off.”

“You don’t understand,” said Ray, with both exasperation and desperation. “They gave him drugs, he can’t sleep and he’s blind. They broke bones. He should be in a hospital, not a cell.”

Sara’s expression showed her anger at Ray’s word. It wasn’t directed at Ray, he knew that much. She closed her eyes for a moment, and shook her head.

“No, we still have to do it this way. If Thawne finds out that we’re getting the band back together then he’ll either add security or just kill Rip,” said Sara. “We have to stop Amaya from going back to Darhk.”

Ray sighed sadly, but nodded with understanding. “Okay, but we have to come back tonight. We can’t let them have him for another day.”

Sara nodded. “Agreed. Thawne is going to regret hurting one of ours. Now, where are we going to meet up.”

“I’ve got an idea,” said Nate, and gave Sara the address of a house in a suburb of Central City.

Several hours later, Sara had recovered Amaya, reaching her just minutes before she was about to enter Damien Darhk’s headquarters. So far, they were working on the assumption that Darhk was accepting their story that Mick had given them the slip with Nate and they were giving chase.

The team were stood in Nate’s Mom’s basement, where Nate was apparently living. It looked very much like Nate had furnished his flat with his Mom’s cast-off furniture and everything seemed to be either beige or brown. He’d been running a conspiracy theory blog and stumbled across the same scars in reality that had prompted Ray to build the transreality multiplexer. Thawne had ordered Mick and Snart to kill him, but luckily Mick had refused, turning against Snart and fleeing with Nate. Mick’s next stop had been Ray, figuring that if anyone could fix things then it would be Ray. Thanks to Rip shaking his memories loose, Ray had built exactly what was required to help them.

They had the plan of STAR Labs laid out on the table, and Mick was going over exactly how to break a person out of jail.

“How bad is he?” asked Mick, not beating around he bush. “Is he going to be able to walk out of there? Run? Fight?”

Ray shook his head. “He’s too weak and they broke his hand, plus some ribs I think, maybe his arm too. He was guarding his left side, so I don’t know what other injuries he has. He never wanted to talk about what they did to him. I think he was trying to protect me, or other, amnesiac me, anyway. I wasn’t exactly smart and he was worried that I’d try to rescue him on my own.”

Sara put a hand on Ray’s shoulder, seeing the distress that just talking about it caused him.

“That’s not good,” said Amaya. “We’ll have to carry him out and we could make his injuries worse.”

“Plus, we’ve got no facilities to treat him with when we do get him out,” said Sara.

“It’s not like they’re treating him now,” said Ray. “We need the Waverider, and Gideon. My Atom suit would be useful too.”

“Yeah, but we’ve got no idea where the ship is, or your suit,” said Sara. “Come on, focus. One problem at a time. How do we get Rip out of the pipeline?”

Mick pointed to an area on the map. “Haircut can get in and out, and get us uniforms. He just needs to open this door and let us in. Scramble the cameras. Then we bypass the alarm and lock on the cell, grab the Englishman and run. Easy.”

Nate shook his head. “Except none of us have our powers, and that place is crawling with Thawne’s security guards. And we still need to get Jax and Martin after we’ve got Rip. As soon as the Legion work out what we’re doing, they’re either going to put more guards on Jax and Martin or kill them.”

“Nah,” said Mick, “Thawne’s got them working on some top-secret project. The Professor’s too important to be killed yet.”

“Well, I suppose that’s something,” said Amaya, “but that doesn’t help Jax.”

“Then we split up. Amaya and Nate will go for Jax and the Professor with the reality gun. Mick, Ray, and I – we’ll get Rip out of there. We’ll meet up back here and then we’ll deal with getting the Spear.”

“Hey, Blondie,” said Mick, looking at Sara with deadly serious eyes. “Snart had four rules when it came to plans: make the plan, execute the plan, expect the plan to go off the rails, throw away the plan. Expect the plan to go off the rails, Blondie.”

Sara nodded with the slightest of smiles. “Got it. Good advice. Let’s go get our people.”

***

Ray would have been the first to admit that he didn’t think the plan would work. However, he should have known by now not to underestimate Mick or Sara. Getting in went smoothly and he grabbed some janitor uniforms from the locker room for his team mates. He let them in the side door after quickly disabling the cameras by putting them into a loop. He was never more glad to have his quick intellect back, he desperately needed it to get Rip out of the pipeline.

If this worked then they wouldn’t encounter any guards. It was late enough in the evening that the patrols were less now, and Ray knew the routes really well. He’d spent several months dodging them so that he could visit Rip unnoticed. He led Mick and Sara the same path now and down to the pipeline.

He felt nerves begin to set in as they reached Rip’s cell. His mind was taking him to places that he’d been trying to avoid thinking about. His worst nightmare was that they’d arrive to find Thawne had simply decided to kill his prisoner or that Rip would be maimed beyond repair. He approached the glass of the cell and could at least see that Rip was curled on his side and breathing. His eyes were shut, but he was facing towards the glass. He was trembling, which probably meant he was dealing with the effects of the insomnia drug again.

“Hey, Rip,” said Ray, just like the hundred other times he’d been here. He had no idea if he’d get a response. The last time he’d visited Rip, his team mate had been too out of it to respond. “The transreality multiplexer worked. I found the names on the list,” he added. “We’re going to get you out of here.”

Rip stirred, he shuffled towards the glass and reached out a hand to touch the transparent door of his prison. He opened his unseeing eyes and blinked.

“Ray?” he asked, weakly.

“Yeah, I’m here, with Sara and Mick,” said Ray.

Rip shook his head, and tried to push himself away from the front of the cell. “Not on the list.”

“I know, but he’s on our side, I promise,” said Ray. He went to the keypad and began removing the faceplate and rewiring it.

“I made a horrible mistake,” said Mick. “We’re going to fix this mess.”

“It’s going to be okay, Rip,” said Sara, but the man she was talking to didn’t reply. He just stared into the distance. “Ray, as quick as you can,” she said, glancing at the inventor, but her eyes were mainly on Rip. She was taking in the swollen, broken fingers, carefully held arm, the winces at even the slightest movement, the milky eyes and shivering.

Ray knew that she wasn’t really asking if he was working as fast as he could, but telling him that she was worried without saying that out loud. She didn’t want Rip to know that she was concerned.

“I’m on it,” he said.

It took a couple of tense minutes, but finally the door swung open. Sara was the first to step inside and it was clear that she didn’t know what to do. She knelt on the floor beside Rip.

“Hey there,” she said, her tone reassuring and light. “Ready to get out of here?”

He didn’t answer.

Ray could see that she wanted to touch Rip, to offer reassurance, but he was already flinching away. It was hard to even know where he could be touched without it causing him more pain. Ray stepped forwards, kneeling besides Sara.

“Rip, I know that moving you is going to hurt, and I’m really sorry to cause you more pain, but we have to get you out of here,” said Ray.

“Ray,” murmured Rip, holding out his good hand as he’d done to touch the glass before. Ray realised what he wanted and he touched his fingers to Rip’s.

“Yeah, this is really happening. It’s not just lack of sleep, we’re really here,” said Ray.

Rip let out a sigh of relief, and gave them a nod. “Glad… you could… make it.”

He appeared to collect himself and much to Ray’s amazement, he moved. He put his better arm on the ground and attempted to push himself up. The look on his face was determined, and by some miracle he managed to sit up, although he wobbled dangerously, and Ray attempted to ignore the small, rapidly suppressed, noises of pain that he made. Apparently Rip Hunter was as tough as nails, but he’d always suspected that might be the case.

“Rip, I’m really not sure this is a good idea…” began Ray.

“You’re a stubborn ass,” said Sara, butting in, and putting a hand on Rip’s shoulder to stop him falling sideways. Rip flinched away from her initially but seemed to force himself to allow the contact.

“Had to be,” said Rip. “Don’t think I can stand. Sorry.” A shuddering wave passed through his body, which nearly had him on the floor again, but Sara steadied him.

Ray looked over to Mick.

“Can you carry him?” he asked.

“No other option, Haircut,” said Mick, an unusually dark look in his eyes. “Sorry, English.”

Mick hoisted Rip over his shoulder, and Rip cried out, biting down on the exclamation as he breathed rapidly.

“Rip?” asked Ray.

“…’m fine,” he managed to get out through clenched teeth, but he was blinking quickly. This wasn’t at all comfortable for him. Ray suspected that he might have passed out but the drugs were working to keep him awake still.

“Let’s get moving,” said Sara. “We’ll get Rip medical attention once we’re not in the bad guy’s lair.”

Ray nodded, and he was about to move out when Rip called his name in the loudest voice he could manage.

“Ray, your suit,” said Rip, falling over the words. “It’s here.”

“It is?” asked Ray.

“I saw it. One of the side labs in sector B,” said Rip. His body trembled, and again his jaw tensed as if he was trying not to yell.

Ray looked at Sara. Rip had just expended energy, energy that he really didn’t have, telling them this information.

“No,” said Sara, “we don’t have time.”

“Waverider,” said Rip, in little more than a whisper. “Waverider too.”

“Are you saying that the Waverider’s here?” asked Sara. “How is that even possible?” Rip didn’t respond, because the shivering had overtaken him again.

“Sara…” began Ray.

“No,” replied the assassin. “Rip’s in no shape for us to be making detours.”

“But it’s hardly out of our way at all,” said Ray. “And the Waverider has the medical facilities we’re going to need.”

Sara sighed. “Mick, get Rip to the rendezvous point. I’ll take Ray to get his suit and maybe we can get a lead on the Waverider.”

Mick nodded, and walked smartly away with Rip. Sara and Ray continued onwards down the corridor, and at about that moment two guards entered the same corridor and two seconds after that they were noticed. Luckily, Sara Lance was every inch the assassin she’d been trained to be and five seconds after they’d been spotted, the two guards were down, and one of them had been shocked with his own stun baton. Ray was indecently amused by that when he realised that it was the guard who had done the same thing to Rip all those weeks ago.

Ray helped Sara pull them into an empty cell and then grabbed one of their radios.

“We’ll keep ahead of their patrols this way,” he said to Sara.

She nodded. “Good thinking. Let’s get your suit and get out of here.”

***

Rip was awake, but he wasn’t aware of much. He couldn’t see and his brain could barely discern that there were voices around him that were his team. Everything faded in and out, like someone was playing with a volume control in his head. There were drugs in his system that made his blood feel like it was full of swarms of bees and stopped him from resting. He hadn’t slept for days, and mere tiredness no longer described what he was feeling.

There had been carrying, and travelling, and then he’d been placed quite carefully on a bed.

“On his front,” said someone. Possibly Ray. Yes, definitely Ray. “Thawne flogged him. His back must be painful.”

Ray was right about that. Every shiver pulled his healing scars and jarred his broken bones. Unfortunately, Ray didn’t know about the cracked ribs and the burns on his torso. He squirmed, trying to get back onto his right side, which at least didn’t put direct pressure on his wounds. He eventually made it, although was worn out from the effort.

There were hands and he couldn’t see anything that touched him. He shied away from the attention, trying to move again, quite unsuccessfully this time. He didn’t know what was going on and he was scared. His befuddled brain wouldn’t supply any answers.

“Can’t see,” he muttered. “Stop!” He really hoped Ray was there and would understand. The hands were withdrawn.

“Rip, it’s okay. I’m going to tell you everything that we’re going to do before we do it. I’m going to touch your good hand okay, just so that you know I’m here. We’ll try not to startle you again,” said Ray.

“Okay,” mumbled Rip. He really wished he wasn’t trapped in the dark, unable to even see who else was here with him. He tried not to flinch as he felt fingers touch his own, and instead he gripped them like a lifeline. It was good to be touched by someone who didn’t mean him harm.

Ray was talking again, but he’d missed the first part of whatever he’d said while his mind wandered.

“You were drugged and that needs to leave your system. Then you’ll be able to sleep, which is the most important thing. We’re working on getting you back to the Waverider, but for now you need to tell us where you hurt.”

And now he hadn’t listened to the last part. His concentration was non-existent at the moment. Ray repeated himself again. “Rip, where do you hurt? Can you tell us?”

He tried to take stock. He didn’t think “everywhere” was the most useful answer.

“Back, left side, head, eyes, chest, right hand, arms, ankle,” he tried. He realised that was nearly everywhere. He had a headache that had been building over the past few days and it wasn’t helping him to think any more clearly. He desperately wanted to sleep, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to.

“We need to take a look,” said Ray. “It’s just me and Martin. We’re going to cut off your jumpsuit rather than try to get it over your injured arm and hand. We’ll be as gentle as we can.”

“I’m going to start to undo your buttons,” said Martin.

Rip gave the merest of nods to let them know he’d understood, and again, he tried to not flinch away as he felt Martin’s hands begin on the buttons. He knew what was about to be revealed and he suddenly felt embarrassed. Why had he let people do this to him? He should have been stronger and escaped. He wondered if he’d even tried, and he couldn’t remember.

He concentrated on Ray’s hand on his, as his brain gave up paying attention to what was going on and drifted away again into weird, dreamlike thoughts. He desperately needed sleep, he couldn’t focus on anything for more than a few seconds at a time, and his memory was like swiss cheese. He kept losing time and coming to awareness again having missed something that was being said. Ray was repeating himself a lot, but he still wasn’t always able to catch what was being said.

He felt something metal and cold against the skin of his arm. Suddenly a wave of anxiety washed over him. He let out a worried whimper, without really intending to.

“Just scissors to cut the fabric,” said Ray. “That’s all. It’s okay.”

Rip was vibrating, partly with fear and partly from the drugs that were probably leaving his system by now.

“Dear god,” said Martin.

He’d just found the marks that Rip had been hiding beneath the jumpsuit. The barely healed lash wounds on his back, and the excruciatingly painful burns that Thawne had inflicted on his chest and abdomen.

“Mr Rory,” Martin called. “I think we need your expertise.”

Rip shook his head, but he didn’t think anyone paid any attention, because Mick’s gravelly tones were approaching. He was wrong, though, because Ray spoke.

“Mick’s just going to look at the burns. He’s the best person to do this, I promise. He’s not even going to touch you, just look.”

Rip could smell Mick’s distinctive smoky odour as he got close and probably looked him over.

“Looks like they were cleaned,” said Mick. “I guess Thawne didn’t want him dying. Some of them could be chemical, most look like contact burns, ones on his arms are electrical. They’ll hurt and scar, but I’ve seen worse.” He heard the creak of Mick’s jacket as he moved. “They’ll need cleaning again and bandaging.”

Rip shook his head. He remembered the cleaning being more painful than the initial torture. “No, please, don’t.”

There was silence around him for a moment.

“We have to stop them from getting infected,” said Martin.

“We’ll be gentle,” said Ray. “Take it slowly and you can tell us if it gets too much. Hopefully we can give you some painkillers to help with the pain too.”

He attempted to squeeze Ray’s hand, trying to hang on to anything that would keep him grounded in reality and stop him from disappearing into the darkness inside his head.

“His back is of equal concern,” said Martin.

“Might want to check those bruises too,” said Mick. “Could be broken ribs.”

“When did you become a medical expert?” asked Martin.

“Can’t exactly go to the hospital when you’re on the run from the law,” said Mick. “Had to know a few basics to stay alive. If they’re not broken then they’re definitely cracked.”

Rip was fairly certain they weren’t broken, because they didn’t hurt enough, but his brain was refusing to remain present enough to communicate anything other than fear and pain. He was already drifting away again. The darkness was making it hard to anchor himself anywhere and he felt like he was floating away from his body, unable to stay tethered.

He was brought back to clarity by a sharp pain in his hand. Someone was touching his broken hand and he attempted to withdraw it back to his body, but had forgotten that his arm was also fractured. He couldn’t help but cry out.

“Sorry!” said a familiar voice. It was Ray again. His one constant in all of this. Ray, with his good heart, who had sat with him all those nights. He suddenly felt guilty for yelling and being ungrateful for his help. “I won’t touch it again. We’ll wait until we can give you some painkillers.”

“What are you doing over here?” asked an angry female voice. “You’re supposed to be assessing his injuries and helping him, not causing him more pain.”

“Sara?” murmured Rip, but it was so quiet he was probably the only person who heard. He wondered if she was angry because someone had hurt him. It sounded that way. He wished he could feel something about that, but his emotions were strangely monochromatic. All the good feelings had disappeared and he was just left with unhappiness and being afraid.

“Unfortunately, it’s almost impossible to assess his injuries without causing him some additional pain,” said Martin. “We can’t even give him any painkillers until the drugs leave his system. Not that we have any that would be strong enough to do anything more that blunt the edge.”

“We’re going to need proper medical supplies,” said Ray. “Things to splint his broken arm and fingers, antiseptic and bandages to keep his cuts and burns clean. And some proper painkillers that will actually give him some respite from all of that. We can’t properly assess the breaks in his fingers because it hurts him too much if we touch them.”

Sara sighed. “Okay, I’ll send Mick and Amaya, to the nearest medical facility. Hopefully they can break into a store room or something and get what we need. Martin, give me a list.”

“Of course,” said Martin.

“Sara?” asked Rip, again, still several steps behind what was going on.

There was shuffling and the sound of someone getting down to his level. He presumed she was sat beside the bed, probably on the floor.

“Hey, Rip,” she said. “Are you back with us?”

“Tired,” was all he managed to say.

“I know,” said Sara, “but just a little longer and you’ll be able to sleep. You’re not trembling as badly so I think the drug’s leaving your system.”

Rip nodded.

“Can I touch you?” she asked.

Again, he managed a nod. He felt her hand lightly touch his cheek and brush his hair away from his face. Perhaps she was examining the cut on his forehead. He felt her lean in and he could smell the pleasant scent of her skin and hair. He wished more than anything that he could see her.

“You’re going to be okay, I’m going to make sure of it,” she said.

“Everyone else?” he asked, unable not to worry about the team.

“We’re all here and we’re fine. Mick found Nate and Ray, after he decided that he’d picked the wrong side, and then I went after him and they used the gun on me. Amaya nearly got to Darhk, but I got her with the reality gun in time. Nate and Amaya collected Jax and Martin without a hitch. Apparently, Martin tried to go for some kind of alarm, but Amaya’s deadly accurate with the reality gun. Then they stopped Thawne from building his incinerator. He was going to destroy the Spear, but Jax and the Professor made sure that he has to start from the beginning again. It’ll take him a while to get back to where he was and hopefully we can grab the Spear before then.”

He leaned into her touch, enjoying it as a distraction from the constant pain and misery. He didn’t really understand what she was saying because he was drifting again. He was dreaming with his eyes open, sinking into the darkness of hallucinated lights and shapes, no longer aware of the real world at all.

***

Sara sighed as Rip seemed to disconnect and he muttered incoherently. She reluctantly removed the hand from his cheek and stood.

“He needs sleep, desperately,” said Martin, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And unless we can get him to the Waverider, there’s nothing we can do except wait it out. People have died from severe lack of sleep and he can’t be far from the threshold. Not only that but sleep deprivation weakens the immune system, slows healing and makes injuries more painful. That isn’t going to help.” The fact that there was very little he could do for Rip was clearly upsetting Martin.

Rip was still clutching Ray’s hand as if his life depended on it, and Sara was aware that Ray’s presence had given him hope whilst he’d been locked in Thawne’s jail cell. It seemed to at least calm him and help him to stay with them. Sara had no idea who Rip would be when he came out the other side of this. Torture did subtle things to strong people that went beyond simple physical injuries and pain. She had her own experience to draw upon and she knew what it was like to think that you’d never escape a cell or be your own person again. However, what Thawne had done to Rip was specifically targeted at his mind and Sara wondered if they’d ever get their Rip back to who he was before all this. She worried that this was one psychological trauma too many after losing his family, then his mind to the Legion, and now tortured with pain, sleep deprivation and drugs.

Martin was scribbling on a piece of paper. He handed Sara his list and she looked down it, checking the contents. It seemed reasonable. The painkillers and other drugs would be the hardest things to come by, but she had faith in the thieving abilities of Mick Rory.

Sara assessed the situation. The group had a number of problems. Rip was the most pressing of those. His injuries were severe, but she hoped not immediately life threatening now that they’d got him out of the pipeline. The pain that he was in was clearly more than he could bear though, and they couldn’t continue to let him suffer. Medical care for their former Captain was a high priority. However, equally pressing was that they also had to deal with the fact that Thawne still had the Spear and was the only man who knew how to use it.

On the flip side, they now had a couple of assets. Following Rip’s directions, Sara and Ray had found the Atom suit and, in the same room, a miniaturised Waverider. At first Sara had assumed that it was just a very good model, but Ray believed that Thawne had used the suit to shrink the ship. To be honest, it wasn’t even the weirdest thing that Sara had dealt with this week, so she’d grabbed the model and ran. The fly in the ointment was that in the process of miniaturising the Waverider, Thawne had damaged the suit. Shrinking something that large had overloaded it, and it would need to be repaired before they could restore the Waverider.

Ray had started work on fixing the suit but Rip was so anxious without him that he’d had to break off to calm him down and help Martin. Jax was building something to see if he could contact Gideon, because she should still be working, even on a miniaturised ship. If they could talk to Gideon then she might be able to help with their other problems and talk them through some better medical care for Rip. Meanwhile, Nate was trying to identify the incantation used to activate the Spear, with Mick and Amaya pitching in to help him, with the hopes that they could end this entire thing.

“Mick, Amaya,” said Sara, going over to where the others were discussing the manuscript and incantation to activate the Spear. “I need you to go to a hospital or somewhere they’ll have these supplies.” She handed Amaya Stein’s note.

“Easy money,” said Mick. “Hospitals have less security than banks.”

Amaya nodded. “He has a point.” She looked over to Nate. “Do you know where the nearest place is that might have this stuff?”

Nate nodded. “Yeah, there’s a medical centre just down the road. I can give you directions.”

Amaya, Nate and Mick went over how to get to the medical centre, and the pair left to do what was required. Sara would have liked to have joined them, but she didn’t want to leave the team right now. Ray was talking quietly to Rip, although she doubted whether he knew if Rip could hear him. It did seem to calm him when they talked to him, but Ray’s voice was going and they really needed him to work on his suit.

Sara wandered over to Rip’s bedside and put a hand on Ray’s shoulder.

“Hey, let me have a turn,” said Sara. “I know that you were there for him when he was in the pipeline, but, right now, your time would be better spent fixing your suit.”

Ray shook his head. “That’s just it, I wasn’t there when he needed me. I should have got him out of there weeks ago. He was coherent then. He was hurt, but at least he was still talking and telling me stories. I don’t know how to help him with this. He probably prodded my memory enough that I was able to build the reality gun, which is why we’re all standing here and not still sheep doing what the Legion wanted. And I can’t help but feel that I let him down.”

“If you’d tried to break him out on your own then you’d just have ended up getting caught and put in the cell next to his,” said Sara.

“That’s kind of what he said.” Ray looked down at Rip, sadly. “I just couldn’t think properly. I couldn’t come up with a plan or even a way to open the cell door, at least not until Mick used the gun on me.”

“There’s a reason that Rip assembled a crew with two certified geniuses on it,” said Sara. “You’re a smart guy, Ray, and it must have been hard for you to be less than that, but it’s time to move on. We’ve got to deal with the present, and our best chance for helping Rip and getting the Spear is to get back to the Waverider. That means you have to fix the suit.”

Ray nodded. “I know. It’s just that I feel it’s my turn to help him, after he kept me going and got me to build the gun. He even made me remember all of your names so that I could go and find you if you didn’t come to me. I don’t think he expected to make it out of there.”

“But he did, and we’re taking good care of him. We’ll get him through this,” said Sara. “Now go on. I need you working on the suit. I’ve got this, I promise.”

Ray gently put Rip’s hand down on the bed, and got to his feet. Rip moaned at the loss of contact, and he moved restlessly.

“Tell him a story. He likes ones with superheroes,” said Ray, and moved away to his Atom suit.

Sara’s mouth turned up at the corners in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Have I ever told you the story of how Taer Al-Safer left the League of Assassins and came back to her family in Star City?” She paused, as if he might reply. “No? Then I guess we’d better start at the beginning. Once upon a time in Nanda Parbat…”

Rip’s fingers twitched, reaching out towards her. The meaning was clear. She touched her fingers to his and he grasped them.

“Go on,” he said, his voice rough and so quiet she could hardly hear him. “Sounds… like a good one…”

She smiled at him, even though he couldn’t see her. She gave his hand a small squeeze.

“Good to know that you’re still in there, Rip,” said Sara. “As I was saying, once upon a time in Nanda Parbat, Taer Al-Safer decided that it was time to return home after six years in the wilderness…”

***

Rip was sleeping, finally. It had taken several more hours of stories before he’d been able to close his eyes and sleep, exhaustion knocking him out completely. One moment he’d been blinking his blind eyes at Sara’s latest tale of the exploits of the Canary, and then the next he’d closed his eyelids and been out cold. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. Martin expected that he’d sleep for hours, perhaps even days at this stage.

Ray had been having trouble concentrating on his suit, but now that Rip was sleeping he was doing better. A lot of the circuitry was fried, but he’d managed to improvise some replacements by taking apart a digital radio that he’d found in the basement flat. Sara had a feeling that Nate might not be too pleased about that when he finally noticed, but Ray needed the parts and getting his suit functioning was a priority.

Jax whooped with joy as he finished building his device to talk to Gideon on the Waverider. Sara had just finished gently tucking a blanket around Rip’s lower half, when she heard Gideon’s voice.

“It is good to hear from you, Mr Jackson,” said Gideon. “I have been quite concerned about all of you. The Waverider appears to be somewhat smaller than it was.”

“It’s good to hear you too,” said Jax. “We’re working on a way to get you back to full size, but right now we’ve got a medical issue that we’re hoping you can help with. Thawne hurt Rip and we need to know how to help him until we can get him back on board the Waverider. Can you channel the medical scanners through your forward sensor array and scan him?”

“That should be possible,” she replied, “but I am low on power. Perhaps you could sit the Waverider in a sunny location for a moment, while I perform the necessary reroutes. My solar panels should be able to recharge my batteries sufficiently.”

Jax nodded and put the Waverider on the windowsill for a few minutes, while he went to help Ray with his suit repairs. A little later it rose into the air and flew around the room, as both Ray and Jax cheered and clapped. The team were like a bunch of kids at times.

“Okay, now we’re getting somewhere,” said Jax.

“Indeed, Mr Jackson. Allow me to scan Captain Hunter,” said Gideon’s voice, through the external speakers.

The Waverider went over to Rip, who was lying on his side on Nate’s bed in the corner of the room. It hovered over him and a blue light played across Rip as it scanned him.

“Captain Hunter has a number of injuries,” said Gideon. “Shall I list them?”

Sara nodded. “Yes, we’re going to need to know so that we can treat him,” she said with resignation, aware that she wouldn’t like what she was going to hear.

“Mild concussion, laceration to the forehead, chemical burns to corneas, lenses and conjunctiva of both eyes resulting in damage to retinas and blindness, hairline fracture of the left humerus, two sharp force trauma wounds to right shoulder, fracture of the right ulna and radius, electrical burns to both forearms, multiple fractures of the proximal and intermediate phalanges of the right hand, multiple lacerations to the back, damage to the left latissimus dorsi muscles, chipped spinous processes of T5 and T6, multiple burns to the chest, multiple chemical burns to the chest, lung damage suggestive of suffocation, three cracked ribs on the left side, multiple instances of deep tissue bruising, sprain to right ankle, dehydration, and slight malnutrition.”

Sara looked down at Rip and for the first time in a long while, felt like crying. The others in the room were awkwardly silent, but Ray in particular looked like he might actually be ill. Gideon seemed to have come to the end of the injuries. However, after a short pause she added something else.

“Trace amounts of two separate drugs are also present in his system, and his brain chemistry is dangerously out of balance.”

“He couldn’t sleep, Gideon. Thawne tortured him by giving him drugs that kept him awake,” said Sara.

“That would explain the imbalances that are present. Adrenalin levels and other indicators suggest that he is also experiencing high levels of pain,” said Gideon. “Given his injuries this is not unexpected. However, with the unknown compounds currently present in his system, and without the facilities of medbay to remove them from his body or analyse them further, I would suggest waiting two more hours before administering painkillers.”

Gideon sounded quite upset at that idea, but until they could get the Waverider back to normal size there wasn’t much they could do. In fact, until Amaya and Mick returned, they didn’t even have any painkillers to offer Rip. At least he probably was getting some respite now that he was asleep.

“Is there anything you can do for him, Gideon?”

“Unfortunately, only my medical scanners are operational outside medbay,” replied the AI.

Rip stirred, restlessly, moaning uncomfortably.

“Hey, don’t wake up now,” said Sara, gently. “You need more sleep than that.”

Ray looked up from where he was working. “Talk to him again. It really seems to help.”

“Why don’t you have a rest?” said Martin. “I think it might be my turn.”

Sara nodded. “Be my guest, Martin.” Her voice was getting a bit tired.

She vacated the chair that she’d been sat in and let Martin have it.

“I’m not sure that I can match Ms Lance’s exciting adventures, but let me tell you about how Ronnie Raymond and I once saved the world with a little help from the Flash…”

Rip seemed to quieten down as he heard Martin’s voice begin the story.

Sara vaguely listened in as she made herself a cup of coffee and ate some sandwiches. Martin may have been a little more into the scientific details than Sara had been, but the story of how Firestorm had helped the Flash close a breach, was still quite exciting, and, of course, it had a rather sad ending. Although losing Ronnie wasn’t where Martin concluded the tale. Instead he went on to include the first time he met Jax and how he’d been sceptical that he was the right partner for him.

“Between you and me, Captain Hunter,” said Martin, with a glance in Jax’s direction, “I am very glad that it was Jefferson who was compatible. I could not wish for a better partner. So, whilst I miss Ronald and will forever remember him, Jefferson is a worthy successor in every way.”

Jax gave a small laugh. “Yeah, yeah, and flattery will get you nowhere, Grey.”

Amaya and Mick returned with the medical supplies soon after that, and Gideon said that enough time had passed that they could give Rip something to help with the pain. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the only thing that had to be dealt with and Martin, Nate and Amaya started the delicate process of splinting Rip’s broken bones. Even with the painkillers, Rip moaned in his sleep as they uncurled his swollen fingers. Sara suspected that if he hadn’t been deeply asleep, under the influence of some strong pain medication, and so much in need of the rest then he might have come around at all the prodding, but he didn’t and she was grateful for small mercies. Gideon gave them permission to increase the painkiller dose to the maximum safe amount and they continued.

***

Rip awoke to the sound of arguing. This wasn’t unusual. The team always argued and often he had to step in to sort it out. He frowned and realised that he could hear the team arguing. He could _hear the team_ arguing. Which meant that he wasn’t in a cell in the pipeline anymore.

A quick check made him realise that he was still lying on his right side, but his broken fingers wouldn’t move, nor would his fractured arm. They were strapped and immobilised, and it felt like his arm was tied up. Bad memories came flooding back, and he panicked. He couldn’t see. He was groggy and his thoughts weren’t exactly ordered. He tried to pull his arm free, but that sent a wave of pain shooting through him and he couldn’t help but yell. The arguing ceased immediately.

“Rip! Woah, stop,” said a voice. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re safe.”

He shook his head and tried desperately move away, but he was weak and his chest hurt when he breathed or moved, and his back pulled painfully. Even though the pain was dull and less than it had been in some time, any movement seemed to bring it flaring back to previous levels.

“Rip!” the voice said again, and a hand was grabbing his good one. “It’s Ray. You need to calm down or you’re going to hurt yourself. We got you out. You’re not in the pipeline.”

He turned his eyes towards the sound of the voice, stilling his movements. “Ray?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m here. You’re going to be okay. We’re working on getting you back to the Waverider and then Gideon will be able to fix you,” said Ray.

Rip let out a relieved sigh. “Sorry,” he said, relaxing. “I’m… feeling a little strange.”

“You still need more sleep,” said another voice, this one female. “And we gave you a lot of painkillers, basically the most that Gideon would let us.”

“Sara?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied, “and Martin, Jax, Nate, Amaya and Mick. We’re all here.”

He wished he could see their faces. “Where am I? How long have I been out?”

“You’re in Nate’s Mom’s basement, where Nate has been living. Don’t ask. It’s been about a day since we got you out of the pipeline, but you’ve probably slept for about eighteen hours now,” said Sara. “You really needed it.”

“Why can’t I move my arm?” asked Rip.

“We splinted it and then we strapped it across your chest,” said Ray. “We were a bit worried that it would hurt worse to do that with your, uh, other injuries, but we had to immobilise it so that the broken bone didn’t cut an artery or something.”

“Ah,” said Rip. “Thawne was quite thorough in his approach to my questioning. I very much appreciate the painkillers.”

“Do you feel up to drinking some water?” asked Ray. “You’re a bit dehydrated and even with Gideon instructing us, we can’t put in an IV.”

Rip nodded. “I am thirsty.”

“Okay, we’re going to help you up a bit so you can drink more easily. Nate and I are going to touch you,” said Ray.

“Right,” said Rip, appreciating the warning. He was still unnaturally afraid and he didn’t think he could cope with anyone putting a hand on him without knowing it was going to happen.

Slowly and gently Ray and Nate positioned Rip so that he was more sat up but still resting against his good side. He began to tremble as they did it, his body recognising that touch led to pain. He had tensed and consciously had to relax into the pillows that were placed ready for him. His heart rate had gone up and he was trying hard not to be embarrassed by that. He took a couple of deep breaths which seemed to help.

 “Glass and straw in front of you,” said Sara, and he felt the straw bump his lips and he grabbed it with his teeth and sucked greedily. Sara was holding the glass for him, given her proximity.

“Not too much,” said Martin, close by, but not as near as Sara. “Just sip it or you’ll feel sick.”

The straw was removed and he frowned, before it returned and he was able to sip more slowly this time until he’d had enough. He heard the sound of a glass being put down on a table.

“You can have some more in a minute. I’m going to take your hand,” said Sara. “You’re doing fine.”

Rip gave a slight nod. He wasn’t sure that he was doing fine. He was unbelievably tired and hated the permanent darkness that Thawne had driven him into. Gideon could probably fix his eyes, but the longer it was left the more difficult it would be. He remembered how his eyes had stung even days after Thawne had blinded him, and he preferred not to remember the act itself. They were surprisingly pain free now, but he suspected that was down to whatever medical care his team had been able to provide for him.

“What about the Spear?” he asked.

“Thawne still has it, but we stopped him from destroying it,” said Sara.

“He’s looking for other ways,” said Rip, shivering at the memory. “He wanted to know about other artefacts associated with the crucifixion. He was particularly interested in the Crown of Thorns.”

“The Crown of Thorns?” asked Nate. “As in the crown of thorns that Christ wore at his crucifixion?”

“The same,” said Rip.

“If the Spear rewrites reality, what does the Crown do?” asked Sara.

“It allows you to control people’s hearts and minds,” said Rip. “It’s perhaps not as powerful as the Spear, but it could cause a lot of trouble. However, I don’t think he wants it for its powers.”

“You don’t?” asked Sara.

Rip heard Nate let out an exasperated sigh of realisation. He was on his left, behind his back. “Of course,” said the Historian. “It will have trace amounts of Christ’s blood on it.”

“Which he could then sample and synthesise,” said Martin. “He could manufacture the blood of Christ?”

“Would that even work?” asked Amaya, from somewhere near his feet.

“I don’t know,” said Rip. “But clearly Thawne thinks it would.”

“So, where is it?” asked Ray.

Time seemed to slow for Rip. He’d spent weeks not answering that question as Thawne tortured him and he had desperately wanted to answer it, just to make the pain stop. He wouldn’t even explain to Thawne that the Spear could not call the artefacts to it because the power of the Spear wouldn’t work on other artefacts created at the crucifixion. He knew that even answering one question would open the door to more. His heart began to beat faster again as he was dragged back to the interrogation room. He closed his eyes, shaking his head and tried to put his hands out in front of himself but Sara held one hand and the other was strapped up. He panicked, his brain taking him to places he had no wish to be, and a sad whimper left his lips completely unbidden.

“Rip?” asked Ray. “It’s okay, you don’t have to answer,” he added, rapidly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think. I’m sorry. I don’t need to know. You don’t need to tell me.” Ray sounded distraught and Rip immediately felt guilt wash over him for upsetting his stalwart friend.

“Rip, you’re okay,” said Sara. “You’re not in STAR Labs, you’re here with us.”

Rip shook with fear and tried to curl up, but that just pulled on his healing back and hurt him, reminding him of the pain of his torture.

“Please,” he asked, weakly. “Don’t. Please, stop.”

“Oh, Rip,” said Sara, but he didn’t really hear her, he heard Thawne taunting him inside his head. He was remembering the smell of his own burning flesh and the pain that accompanied it.

“I won’t give you the location,” he said, voice breaking. “You won’t win.”

“He didn’t,” said Ray. “You won, Rip. It’s over, we got you out.”

“Ray?” asked Rip, his eyes searching the darkness for the friendly face of the STAR Labs janitor.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he said, his voice sounding a little strange.

“Talk to me, please,” said Rip. “It helps.”

“Did I ever tell you about how the Atom defeated Deathbolt with a little help from the Arrow?” asked Ray.

There was shuffling in front of him from the sound of it. The person who had been holding his hand was replaced by Ray. Rip recognised the calloused hands of his friend and he once again used Ray’s voice as an anchor. He listened to the tale of how Ray had learnt how to fight using the Atom suit with the help of Team Arrow, and he let Ray’s words help lull him into sleep.

***

The team moved away from Rip’s bed, leaving Ray to calm him down as he seemed to still be the one that Rip responded to. No one was going to mention the tears in Ray’s eyes, or that Rip and Ray now seemed to have a bond that they hadn’t possessed before. Sara wasn’t going to dwell on how it had come about.

“We need to know where the Crown of Thorns is,” said Amaya. “We’re going to have to ask him again to tell us.”

Sara was already shaking her head. “You saw what just happened. That was a flashback,” said Sara, with a gesture in Rip’s direction. “He’s spent the last few months being asked that question and hurt every time he didn’t answer. He’s recovering from severe injuries, he still hasn’t had enough sleep to counteract the sleep deprivation, and Thawne blinded him. I’m amazed he’s even talking, let alone managing to answer our questions coherently.” She was trying to keep her voice down, because Rip did not need to hear any of this, but she needed to make her point. “I won’t force him to answer. He protected that information with his life and it cost him. I won’t hurt him further.”

“Then what do we do?” asked Amaya.

“We go after the Spear,” said Sara. “We know Thawne has it and we know it’s in STAR Labs somewhere.”

“But we still have to find it,” said Nate, “although the good news on that front is that I’m fairly certain we’ve found the incantation to control the Spear. Mick recognised it anyway.”

“Yeah, it was obvious when you read it out,” said Mick.

“Well, at least that’s something,” said Sara.

“It still doesn’t help us find the Spear,” said Amaya.

Ray joined them, looking tired. “He’s sleeping again. Probably for the best. I think he did realise he wasn’t in the pipeline after a while, but he was half asleep by then.” He looked at the others. “So… I’m going to work on the suit again. The sooner we can get him back to the Waverider the better. At least Gideon has better painkillers than we do and can start on healing him.”

Gideon had suggested that it would take several sessions to heal Captain Hunter completely, and the sooner they got started the better. The tissue regenerators on the Waverider were miraculous but were taxing on an already ill person and had to be used carefully.

Martin nodded. “I had a discussion with Gideon about his prognosis. Most of his injuries can be healed, but she isn’t certain that she can reverse his blindness, at least not completely. She suggested, at best, she could restore a range of vision which would still leave him legally blind by most modern definitions. The cost of protecting that information may well have been his eyesight.”

Jax was shaking his head. “Nah, you can’t be telling us that he’s never going to see properly again.”

Martin looked uncomfortable. “It is a distinct possibility, yes. The Waverider’s medbay is highly advanced, but it looks like Thawne used an acid to damage the conjunctiva, corneas, lenses and retinas of both eyes. Rip mentioned that they hurt and that’s because the acid continued attacking them until Dr Palmer and I were able to wash them out. The acid had been diluted by his own tears, but it was still working and it must have been incredibly painful when first applied.”

Sara could only imagine the look on her own face, but she could easily see the shock on the faces of the others.

“Okay, new plan,” said Sara. “We’re going after the Spear. We’re going to set everything right, and if that includes getting Rip his sight back, then so be it.”

She looked at her team for their backing and they unanimously gave her their approval. Now they just had to find the Spear.

***

When Rip next awoke, it was to chanting from somewhere in the room. He felt slightly less befuddled, but it still took him a moment to put all the pieces together and remember why it was dark even with his eyes open.

“No, that’s not right,” said Martin, from across the room.

“Okay, let’s go again,” said Nate.

The chant started from the beginning again. It sounded vaguely Middle Eastern, but it wasn’t a language that he spoke. It had to be the Spear incantation that everyone was learning. He listened for a moment, internalising the words and picking out the voices of the team. It was soothing to hear them and know that they were all here with him even if he couldn’t see them.

Then his back twinged and he was forced to move. He groaned as the pain reasserted itself. The analgesics he’d been given earlier were wearing off it seemed, and everything was reminding him that his body had been very badly treated quite recently.

“Hey,” said a voice, that he recognised as Sara. She must have already been sat at his bedside. “Are you awake?”

Rip nodded and regretted moving his head instantly. The headache which had been behind his eyes pretty much constantly since his escape from the pipeline had made an unwelcome return. He groaned, unable to say anything further.

“Hurting?”

“Yes,” he murmured.

“I’ve got the painkillers ready. I was just waiting for you to wake up. I’m going to touch you on your shoulder, then there’ll be sharp prick, okay?”

“Okay,” Rip sighed, already tensed for the contact.

He felt something damp on his shoulder, it smelt sharply of alcohol, so probably an antiseptic wipe and then a needle stabbed him and was withdrawn. It only took a few minutes for the painkillers to begin to work and he started to feel somewhat better. He tried to untense and relax a little.

“Water?” asked Sara.

He nodded and she put the straw to his lips so that he could sip the liquid. She let him drink a bit more this time before removing it.

“Sorry… about earlier,” he said.

“You don’t need to apologise,” said Sara. “Honestly, after everything that Thawne did to you, I’m surprised you’re as together as you are.”

“I assure you that “together” is not a word that I would use to describe my pitiful state at the moment,” said Rip, with a shake of his head. “Broken, pathetic, contemptible, those would be better words.”

“What are you talking about? You did the only thing a prisoner has to do, you survived. Not only that but you made it through torture, didn’t reveal any information, and came out the other side. So, why don’t we go with: strong, tough, and brave?” said Sara.

“Because they would be inaccurate,” said Rip. “I’m none of those things. I only made one attempt to escape that place, and it was utterly unsuccessful. I should have tried harder.”

“From what Ray said, once Thawne started questioning you, there wasn’t much opportunity for escape. You were badly injured. You’d never have managed on your own. And Ray’s been beating himself up about not helping you to get out of there sooner, even though he wasn’t himself and didn’t have his suit. So, you’re both as bad as each other.”

“It wasn’t his fault,” replied Rip, desperate to make sure Sara understood that. “He didn’t have his suit or his usual genius level intelligence. He couldn’t have even opened the lock without the code, let alone got me out without encountering guards. The most likely outcome was his death. I wouldn’t let him try it. He had to finish the reality gun. That was the priority.”

“I’d have made the same decision,” said Sara, and for some reason that made him feel better. He knew it had been the right decision to keep Ray out of it and get him to concentrate on working on the gun, but it helped to have someone else confirm it.

“I was close to breaking,” confessed Rip, quietly. “I could take the pain, well, I could endure it. But when he took my eyes… and I was losing my mind from lack of sleep… if you hadn’t come to rescue me when you did, I’d have told him anything he wanted, just to make it all stop.” He felt tears in his eyes. He tried to blink them away, but they rolled down his face, falling on his pillow and making it uncomfortably wet.

“I’m going to take your hand, okay?”

Rip nodded. He felt her thread her fingers through his, and was thankful for the contact once more.

“Everyone gives under torture, Rip,” said Sara. “You know that. You held on longer than anyone I know would have, longer than I would have. You didn’t tell him anything and we got you out before you did.”

“But he broke me,” said Rip, with utter misery. “He might not have known yet, but he broke me.”

“Then we’ll put you back together,” said Sara.

“You can’t fix this, Sara,” said Rip. “A drink and a chat in the parlour are not going to be enough to undo weeks of Thawne’s punishment, or help me deal with the inevitable post-traumatic stress that is bound to follow.”

“No?” asked Sara, and he could tell when she was lightly teasing him even without the visual cues. “I’ll tell you all the superhero stories you want.”

Rip rolled his unseeing eyes. “You mock, but without Ray’s nightly visits and stories of the Atom, I might have given up hope much sooner.”

“I know,” said Sara. “I’ve seen how you and Ray have bonded, and when you were still suffering from sleep deprivation, his voice was one of the things that helped calm you down. Martin and I took a turn as well, but we were definitely second best. When you’re in a place like that, you hold on to anything you can. Any small glint of hope that you can get. I understand that, Rip, because I’ve been there too.”

Rip took a deep, shuddering breath as tears continued to flow. He couldn’t stop them.

“I can’t see, Sara,” he said, pitifully. “And I’m so scared.”

He felt her squeeze his hand. “You don’t need to be. We’ve got you, Rip. You’re ours, a Legend, and we’ll protect you now that we have you back.”

“Not much of a Legend, am I? Blubbing like a baby,” he said.

Sara simply raised his hand to her own face and he felt the dampness there too. “Yeah, I think being a Legend means tears occasionally. I know this is going to be hard, you’re going to struggle and have bad days, but you’re not alone. You’re not on your own in the dark, we’re stood right beside you and we’ll always be there for you, no matter what, because we’re Legends and you’re Captain Rip Hunter, our founding member.”

Rip actually let out a small laugh at that. He supposed he was. He felt Sara smile too, his hand catching the change in the contours of her cheeks. They both let the tears and smiles happen for a moment, and then Sara pulled out tissues and dabbed away her own tears before doing the same for Rip, after giving him due warning.

Then Ray bounded over, happily declaring his suit fixed and their moment for further discussion was gone.

“Okay, I have a plan. We need to get the Waverider somewhere big enough that we can get it back to normal size, but I don’t want to move Rip more than necessary. I think we should shrink him down to Waverider size and then I’ll take him on board and Gideon can start treatment while we move the ship.” Ray sounded enthusiastic.

“Okay,” said Sara. “That sounds like a reasonable idea. Rip?”

“I have to admit to being somewhat enthusiastic to get to the Waverider. I know you’ve done your best given the limited facilities available, but medbay is much better equipped, and I’d really like my eyesight back.”

He felt the pressure of the ominous silence that greeted him. It wasn’t just a pause in the conversation, it was a full stop followed by an ellipsis.

“I know that you’re now exchanging a look and trying to decide who breaks the news to me,” said Rip. “I’m not brain damaged as well as blind. I’m going to make an educated guess here and suggest that Gideon doesn’t think my eyes can be fixed.”

“Not immediately,” said Sara. “You have a lot of injuries, Rip. She’s can’t heal everything at once because it would put too much strain on your body.”

“I’m familiar with how the medbay works, Sara,” said Rip, with annoyance. “Gideon doesn’t think my eyes can be healed at all, does she?”

“Gideon thinks that she might be able to give you back partial sight, but by 2017 definitions, you’d still be legally blind,” said Ray. “But there are other ways of giving you eyes. Doctor Mid-Nite was able to restore his vision using technology from the year 3000 so I’m thinking we should look there for a solution once we’ve fixed this.”

Rip sighed. “He was coming from the 1940s where medical technology was poor. Even 2017’s medical technology could probably have helped him.”

“Don’t dismiss it until we’ve at least looked into it,” said Sara. “We’ll find a way to get you your eyesight back. I promise.”

“Don’t make promises that you have no way of knowing if you can keep,” said Rip.

“Don’t be so damn pessimistic all the time. Miracles happen on the Waverider. You said it yourself,” said Sara.

“So I did,” said Rip, but he doubted this would be one of those times.

He heard Ray snapping on bits of his suit. “Okay, well if you’re ready to get back to the Waverider, then I’ll be your transport for today. I’m going to need to make contact, but I’ll try to avoid anything that’s broken or hurts.”

“That’s pretty much everywhere except my left hand, Ray,” Rip pointed out. “You might as well just grab my hand like you’ve been doing.”

Ray gave a small cough. “I wasn’t sure how much you remembered of the hand holding. You seemed to like it.”

“It was very… comforting,” said Rip, “and it still is, to be honest. I can’t see people approach or if they’re still here. At least if you take hold of my hand then I can feel you’re here.”

He felt Sara’s hand being exchanged for Ray’s.

There was a familiar sound of engines, but somehow it seemed further away or higher in pitch, he wasn’t sure what the issue was. He knew it was the Waverider, coming in close to be ready for their arrival, and it was only another moment before he worked out that the sound was wrong because it was smaller than normal.

“Are you ready to get tiny?” asked Ray.

“As I’ll ever be,” said Rip.

There was a strange whoosh noise, that Rip recognised as the sound of Ray’s suit using its shrinking ability, and Rip felt Ray scoop him up in his arms. Luckily the painkillers that Sara had given him were working well and it only ached somewhat to have Ray’s arm against his back.

“Not long now. I’m just going to fly us into the Waverider and then down to the medbay,” said Ray.

“Okay,” murmured Rip, feeling a little strange.

“Sorry, it can make you feel a bit weird the first time,” said Ray. He flew Rip into the Waverider and carried him through the empty corridors down to medbay. Ray set Rip down on one of the medbay beds carefully, which Gideon had already prepared so that he could lie on his side.

“Gideon?” asked Rip.

“I’m here, Captain,” said Gideon.

“You always are,” said Rip, with relief. “It’s good to be home.”

“It’s good to have you home,” replied Gideon. “Let’s see what I can do about your injuries.”

“Okay, I’m going to put the cuff on your better arm, and then Gideon can get to work on the first batch of cell regeneration.”

“Right,” said Rip, and felt Ray do as he’d said, the metal cuff snapping around his wrist and tightening to make contact with his skin so that Gideon could infuse him with whatever drugs she deemed necessary to make him well again.

“I will begin with the lacerations on your back,” said Gideon. “This is best done under sedation. Please could you remove the sterile dressings so that the cell regenerator can get access to the Captain’s wounds, Dr Palmer?”

Rip barely had a chance to register Gideon’s words before she had administered the sedative and he was drawn downwards into rapid unconsciousness. The change from awareness to dreams was almost imperceptible.

***

Rip spent most of the next few days sleeping in medbay between operations to fix his many wounds and injuries. He felt tired, but better. The pain lessened with every cut or burn that Gideon healed, and every broken bone that she reset. He was able to breathe more easily when Gideon healed the damage to his lungs and the cracked ribs. He could sleep on his back again once the lash marks were taken care of and he was very grateful for that. It also helped that she had dealt with the remains of the drugs in his system, so his concentration improved considerably.

His eyes were the most problematic part. Gideon explained that she could replace the lenses and corneas and heal the conjunctivas, the membrane that covered the eyes, but the drugs had also damaged his retinas and optical nerves. Gideon was unable to regenerate the delicate retinas without leaving him with serious sight problems. She could give him back light and some colour but his vision would never be detailed or have acuity. At least light was better than darkness. The operations to even get that much back were gruelling and left him worn out.

Meanwhile the team planned how to retrieve the Spear, putting together a detailed plan for how to get into STAR Labs and defeat the speedster. When they weren’t getting ready for the mission, someone would visit him in medbay. It was usually Ray or Sara who were there when he woke up from whatever procedure Gideon had performed. He did make them promise not to come to medbay whilst Gideon worked on his eyes. Having had the procedure explained, he didn’t want anyone to witness Gideon’s robotic appendages delicately taking his eyeballs apart.

He opened his eyes after the final operation, and blinked at blurry light. He smiled as he detected movement.

“Hey,” said Ray. “So, what’s the verdict?”

“Light and movement,” said Rip. “Maybe some colour too. You’re sort of a blurry pink and black human shaped blob. Are you wearing a black t-shirt?”

“Yes,” said Ray. “That’s definitely an improvement.”

“Yes, an improvement,” said Rip, feeling suddenly downhearted. He still couldn’t see well enough to read or even make himself a cup of tea. Gideon had done the best that she could, but the damage had been too extensive. This was as good as it was going to get. “When can I get out of here, Gideon?”

“I would suggest you allow the sedative to wear off completely, Captain,” said Gideon. “My calculations indicate that will take approximately an hour. If you require more pain relief then you are not yet at maximum safe dosages.”

“Thank you, Gideon, but I am comfortable,” said Rip.

“I will fabricate some additional pain relief medication in capsule form,” said Gideon. “Please take it.”

Rip stopped himself from rolling his eyes, because that would probably hurt at the moment. Yes, he was quite bad about taking pain medication, but it was only because it tended to dull his mental processes and he preferred to stay sharp. However, annoying Gideon would get him nowhere.

“Of course, Gideon,” replied Rip.

Sara came into the room. “So, how did it go?”

“About as well as it could have,” replied Rip. “I can tell that you’re over there and wearing a white top.”

He could hear the happiness in her voice when she answered. “That’s good news. Nicely done, Gideon.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t do better,” replied Gideon.

“You did what you could, Gideon,” said Rip. “It isn’t your fault that Thawne did this to me.”

“Speaking of which, tonight’s the night. We’ve located the Spear and we’re going in to get it. Then we’re going to use the Spear to put this all back to how it was, and we’ve all agreed that includes you getting your eyesight back,” said Sara.

Rip let out a sigh. “I’m not really the highest priority though, am I? I assume that you’ve briefed everyone on dealing with Thawne and the Legion of Doom if they get the Spear.”

“Of course,” said Sara. “And we also agreed to not bring back any loved ones - past, present or future - from the dead. But this is the Spear of Destiny; we can ask it for what we like as long as it isn’t going to damage causality and I’m pretty sure getting you your sight back won’t hurt anyone.”

“It’s certainly worth a try,” said Ray. “I mean, if the Legion can create Doomworld then I’m pretty sure we can ask for a couple of things.”

Rip nodded. It was definitely worth a try, and he would like to be able to see properly again. “So, what’s the plan?”

Sara told him. It actually didn’t sound too hare-brained which was unusual for the Legends.

“I wish I could come with you,” said Rip. “But until I can get my eyesight back, I’m afraid I would just be a liability.”

“You can listen in on the coms,” said Ray. “We could probably use your advice and Gideon can keep an eye out for Thawne for us.”

“Yeah, that would definitely be useful,” said Sara.

Rip nodded. “I think I can manage that, once Gideon allows me out of here.”

“Another fifty-five minutes, Captain,” said Gideon.

Sara giggled at that, and Rip sighed.

“Get some rest,” said Sara. “We’ll come and get you when it’s time.”

It was a long, nervous wait. He tried to rest and sleep but his mind was disturbed by images of Eobard Thawne taunting him as he took his eyes from him. He remembered the pain and the fact that Thawne had made sure to show him the large needle that would be used. The last clear image he had before the blackness closed in was Thawne grinning horribly at him. At least he wasn’t shut in the dark anymore, thanks to Gideon’s ministrations.

However, once the action started, he had a different kind of worry to contend with and that was concern for his friends. Ray escorted him to the bridge, at least partly because Rip was still stiff and sore from the various operations that Gideon had performed. The Waverider’s medbay was miraculous in its abilities, but the body still had to deal with the aftermath of the tissue regeneration and bone knitting. It was tiring and had left him with very little energy. Under other circumstances he’d have gone to his quarters and slept, but not now, not with the Spear so close.

The Legends had planned a heist and it was a good plan. Rip had sat and listened to them, as they demonstrated just how good they’d become at this type of mission. Nate had taught everyone the incantation that they needed to say once they got the Spear. Mick had gone through the original plan that Sara had come up with and pointed out its flaws. Ray and Jax had worked out how to bypass the alarms and sensors that Thawne had installed and located the Spear’s hiding place. Amaya had suggested releasing the Black Flash from his prison, and Martin had worked out a way to slow the Reverse Flash down so that he couldn’t catch them.

Rip was left on the bridge of the Waverider, listening to the com chatter. Everything had gone according to plan until Amaya had tried to let the Black Flash out.

“I’m at the Black Flash’s prison,” said Amaya. “The override isn’t working.”

“I’m on my way,” said Ray, “it probably just needs recalibrating. Oh…”

“Ray?” asked Rip.

“It’s Thawne, he’s on his way towards the Spear,” said Ray. He was currently miniaturised so it was unlikely that Thawne had spotted him, but that wasn’t the issue.

“Sara, get the Spear and get out of there,” said Rip, rapidly. Sara and Mick were assigned to retrieve the Spear.

“Yeah, we’re on it but we’re having the same trouble that Amaya did,” said Sara.

“Okay, I’m coming to you,” said Jax.

“Wait,” said Rip. “The only way that would happen is…”

“If he knew we were here,” finished Ray.

“Get out of there now, everyone,” said Rip.

“No!” said Sara. “We’re only going to get one chance at this.”

Rip wanted to dash off the ship and help, but there was very little he could do. However, he just couldn’t sit there and do nothing either.

“Okay, I’m with Amaya,” said Ray.

“I’m helping Sara and Mick,” said Jax. “Give me a couple of minutes.”

Rip felt his way around the bridge and towards the exit. He hit his knee on a chair and winced at the new bruise, shifting around the obstacle.

“Captain,” said Gideon. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to help,” said Rip, feeling his way off the bridge and along the corridor. He suddenly realised that he had no idea which way he was going. “Bollocks! Where’s the armoury, Gideon?”

“I will direct you, Captain, although I feel I should remind you that your visual acuity is now 20/600 and that would preclude you from handling weapons,” said Gideon.

“It is hard to forget, Gideon. I’d rather at least have the option of aiming a gun in Eobard Thawne’s face,” said Rip.

Gideon didn’t complain further and gave him instructions for how to find the armoury, with occasional pointers on how not to bump into walls or fall down stairs. Rip had an impressive new set of bruises by the time he’d claimed an anti-speedster gun.

“Okay, we’ve got the Spear,” said Sara, we’re heading back to you now.

“Releasing the Black Flash,” said Ray.

Then Ray’s com went dead.

“Ray?” asked Rip. “Ray!” He couldn’t be dead, thought Rip, he just couldn’t be. Not like this.

“He’s down,” said Amaya, her voice sounding weird. “It was Thawne…” and then her com too was silent.

“Amaya!” shouted Nate.

“Back to the ship!” was Sara’s response. “We can’t stop now to pick them up. We need to fix this.”

Rip made his way down to the hatch, doing his best to discern any movement. “Gideon, I’m going to need some help. I don’t want to shoot the team.”

“Understood, Captain,” said Gideon.

He could see the blur of movement in the distance. As Gideon described it, Sara was in the lead running, with the Spear in her hand, then Mick and Nate were half a pace behind her. Jax and Martin were bringing up the rear. A yellow blur ran past the two halves of Firestorm and they lay on the ground.

“Captain, I am not detecting life signs from Mr Jackson or Professor Stein,” said Gideon.

“I need to lay down covering fire,” said Rip. “I’m going to need your help aiming, Gideon.” He put the anti-speedster weapon to his shoulder.

“Certainly, Captain, please move your shot to the left six centimetres and down ten degrees, and fire on my mark.”

Rip did as Gideon indicated, or at least the best proximity he could manage.

“Very good, Captain, fire!”

Rip squeezed the trigger.

“And again, Captain,” said Gideon. Again, Rip fired.

“Ship’s weapons, Gideon. Open fire and box him in. I doubt they’ll be very effective against a speedster but they might narrow his ability to run,” said Rip. “And please do be careful not to hit the team.”

“Of course. A little to the right, Captain, fire,” said Gideon.

Rip did as asked, hearing the reassuring sound of the ship’s guns also opening fire.

“Rip!” shouted Sara. Then suddenly the blur that he’d identified as Sara was being flung to the ground, rolling away from Spear. Mick was knocked over by the backdraft, dropping his gun.

Rip aimed the gun at the yellow blob that had to be Thawne and was currently standing ready to snatch the Spear up from where it had fallen. He was perhaps slightly slower than normal so perhaps whatever Martin had cooked up had worked.

“Step away from the Spear, Eobard,” said Rip.

“I see you restored your sight,” said Thawne.

“Indeed,” said Rip, doing his best to look at Thawne and not through him. He did not want to give away his lack of sight.

In less than a heartbeat Thawne was in front of him and Rip’s gun was torn from his hands and thrown away, clattering to the ground uselessly. Thawne had the Spear in one hand and the other went to Rip’s throat.

“No matter. I can take it from you again just as easily. You still haven’t told me where I can find the Crown of Thorns,” sneered Thawne.

“And I won’t, ever, no matter what you do to me,” said Rip, defiantly, pushing down the horror and fear that threatened to overwhelm him. Thawne was too close now to be anything other than a blur of yellow and flesh colour in front of his eyes.

Thawne began to laugh. “I was wrong, you can’t see me at all, can you? I destroyed your eyes so badly that even your technology can’t bring it back. How amusing. I am very much going to enjoy taking you back to the pipeline and breaking you. It should be easy when you can’t even see what’s coming.”

There was a click from behind Thawne, that Rip heard distinctly but his attacker missed, too busy taunting his victim.

“Sorry, Eobard, but you’re not getting a second chance,” said Rip, his voice rough.

Thawne was blown away by a burst of energy from the anti-speedster weapon. He tumbled across the ground outside the Waverider and Rip realised that he’d dropped the Spear. He heard the wooden sound of it falling at his feet. He crouched down and felt around, closing his hand around the shaft. He could hardly believe that after all of this, the Spear of Destiny was in his possession.

“Do it!” shouted Sara, with her gun still pointed at Thawne in case he began moving again. “We agreed that whoever got the Spear would use it.”

“But it can’t be me,” said Rip. “I’m not worthy. I’m not good enough.”

“You’re a good man, Rip, you can do this. And we don’t have time to argue. You have it. Use it,” said Sara.

Rip searched his memory and came up with the incantation. They’d been practicing it and he’d listened, learning the words too. He’d never thought that he’d be the one to end up with the Spear in his hands, but here he was. He still hesitated.

“Fix this mess,” said Mick’s gravelly tones, picking himself up from the ground.

Rip gave a sharp nod, took a deep breath and spoke the incantation. Suddenly he wasn’t on the Waverider anymore, and he could see perfectly.

He was sat on the couch in the lounge in what had been his house in London before it was bombed into the ground. Jonas was playing on the rug whilst the news played on the television, describing the war. Miranda walked into the room carrying mugs of tea.

“I don’t remember this,” said Rip, looking around him. “I’d have moved you sooner if we’d seen the war coming.”

“No, this didn’t happen,” said Miranda, as she put the tea down on the table.

“Who are you? You’re not Miranda…”

“No, I’m the temptation. I am what whispered to you when you thought about using the Spear the first time you picked it up. What do you want, Rip?”

“I want you, and Jonas. I want you back… but I know I can’t have that. I can’t change reality for myself. I just want everything back to how it was before Thawne changed the world,” said Rip, sadly. “I want my friends to live again. To not be dead. Ray, Jax, Martin, Amaya. For Thawne to be dealt with appropriately by the Black Flash, for Merlyn, Darhk and Snart to be put back where they belong, and no one to be able to do this ever again.”

“You’re asking me to undo a reality that reshaped the entire world. This reality has set and it is an undertaking to undo it now. There will be a price. Something must be given up. The life of one of your friends.”

“Did you ask Thawne for the same thing when he changed reality? Not that I don’t think he’d sell his own Grandmother for power, but I’m curious,” asked Rip, somewhat crossly.

“All he wanted was to change the existing reality, made by time and causality. That was easy. You want me to destroy my work. Something I created. That is harder. The price is that the life of one of your friends will not be restored, unless you have something else to offer me,” replied the fake Miranda.

Rip shook his head. “No, please, don’t ask me to give up one of their lives. I’d rather you took my life in return for fixing this. It’s only what I deserve.”

Miranda looked sadly at Rip. “You wield the Spear and have certain privileges because of that. I will not take your life, and we will do everything that you have asked. But you will remain as you are now. We will not heal your mind or restore your sight, and we will reclaim the Spear so that it cannot be abused again. This is the penalty that we enact for restoring reality.”

Rip briefly closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then he met the eyes of the woman who was not Miranda. “I agree. I accept your terms.”

Miranda smiled at him. “It will be done.”

Rip came back to himself on the bridge of the Waverider, and for just a second he caught a glimpse of his team, all of them restored and stood around him, before it faded away and he was back to vague blurs and washed out lights. He sighed. It had been nice to get one last look at his team before his sight was gone. He felt the Spear disintegrate in his hand, vanishing and now out of the hands of man. He leaned on the console table, emotion overwhelming him.

“Rip?” asked Sara, “hey, you did it.”

Rip nodded. “Yes, I assume that reality has reset and we’re back in the time stream?”

He could almost hear the moment the team realised that he still couldn’t see.

“You didn’t get your sight back?” asked Ray.

“Er, no,” said Rip.

“Moron,” said Mick. “We agreed you’d get your eyes back.”

Rip nodded ruefully at that. He felt around the table and he walked the couple of steps that would take him in the direction of the chairs. He made it without crashing into anything and sat down gratefully. He wasn’t entirely sure that he could have stood much longer. He was tired and sore.

“Why not?” asked Ray. “You brought me back from the dead, and the rest of the team. Why wouldn’t you have the Spear give you your eyesight back?”

Rip shook his head. “The important thing is that I restored everything to its previous state.”

“Except you,” said Amaya.

“Except me,” said Rip, with a shrug.

“You did something,” said Sara, accusingly.

“I believe I just said that,” replied Rip.

A slight movement in the air indicated that Sara was in front of him. He looked at the light-coloured blur that he had identified as Sara. He could imagine the look on her face and he wondered how long it would be before he forgot her face and the myriad expressions that graced it. Still, it had been worth it.

“No, you did something, like you always do,” said Sara. “Without asking us if that’s what we wanted, or giving us a choice.”

“I had the Spear,” said Rip. “I had to make a decision about how to use it. You told me to do it!”

“We agreed that whoever got the Spear would put everything back the way it was and that included giving you back your eyesight,” said Sara. “So, why didn’t you?”

Rip sighed. “The Spear demanded a price. Reality was setting and I couldn’t just put everything back to how it was without giving up something. There was only one thing that it was my right to give, or rather to not have restored.” He looked up at her.

“It was your sight or our lives,” said Ray, with sharp realisation.

Rip turned towards Ray’s voice, but said nothing.

“He’s right, isn’t he?” asked Sara.

Rip nodded. He could only imagine the looks that were being exchanged in the silence that followed.

“So, it’s time I took my leave of you all,” said Rip, finally.

“What?” asked Jax. “You can’t leave. Where are you going to go?”

“I hadn’t really decided yet,” said Rip. “But I’m sure I’ll find a corner of time and space to call my own. Who knows? Maybe you’ll come and visit.”

“No,” said Ray.

“Oh,” said Rip, somewhat disappointed. “Well, I just thought it would have been nice…”

“No, I mean you’re not leaving,” said Ray.

“I don’t really have a choice,” said Rip. “I’m blind. I’m of no use to this ship or this mission. You don’t need me and there’s nothing more I can teach you.”

“You think we’re just going to let you leave?” asked Sara.

“Well, I can’t stay, can I?” he pointed out. “I can barely navigate my own ship without bumping into things.”

“It’ll get better,” said Ray. “You’ll learn the layout and you can see a little.”

“Also, we haven’t exhausted all the technological solutions yet,” said Martin. “Or even all the medical ones, to be honest.”

“And we could use someone to be on the ship and quarterback missions,” said Sara. “We’re mostly on radios anyway, so no eyesight required.”

Rip raised his eyebrows. “You really think that would work?”

“It’s certainly worth a try,” said Sara. “Assuming that you’re willing to put in the effort to make some adjustments.”

“Come on, dude,” said Jax. “You can’t just give up without even trying.”

Rip shrugged. “I suppose not.”

***

Ray watched as Rip expertly navigated the bridge. It had taken a few months to bring everything together. Gideon had helped them with fabricating a lot of things, so that Rip now had a full wardrobe of clothes that included hidden sensors that sent messages to a tiny chip that was implanted just behind his ear. The chip sent signals to his brain that Rip had learnt to interpret as directions, shapes and objects. Rip described it as like having a wireframe overlay that was fed directly into his brain and gave him what amounted to a 360-degree radar. Unless you knew exactly what to look for, no one would even know that the sensors were there.

Rip also wore a pair of glasses that improved the little eyesight he had considerably and Ray had designed them himself using the latest optical techniques. In fact, a lot of the things they’d made to help Rip had been invented by Ray, with input from Professor Stein and Jax. Tea mugs on the ship now beeped when they were nearly full, the kettle spoke when it had boiled, and they’d added textured plates to the floors to indicate where doorways and stairs were.

They’d completely reorganised the galley and added braille labels to all the cupboards, boxes, cans and packets too, and it was a matter of course that everything was labelled with braille as it was stowed now. Ray had procured a number of braille label printers for the ship, which were coming in very handy. They’d also installed braille markers around the ship so all Rip had to do was put a hand on the wall to know which part of the ship he was in. Not that he ever got lost these days, he knew the layout too well after days of walking the corridors to learn it. He was even learning to shoot again, using the sensor net to help him aim accurately, although working out who he was firing at would be something of a problem even with the sensors. Ray was still working on that problem.

Ray saw Rip reach out a hand and put it on the console, feeling the bumps of the new tactile display with its braille output along the bottom edge. He’d been a quick study when it came to learning the new way of reading with his fingertips. No one had been terribly surprised by that or the fact that their missions were actually going more smoothly with him to offer support from the ship.

The physical stuff had been going relatively well. Rip could almost do everything that he’d been able to do before he lost his sight, although he still wasn’t quite there with some of the things that needed more detailed control. There were a few mundane tasks, like writing a note or reading a sign, that were still beyond him, but there were ways around those, and trimming his beard had taken a considerable amount of practice, which Rip had found quite frustrating, but he’d got there in the end. He was not good at asking for help, but he was slowly realising that admitting he couldn’t do something wasn’t a sign of weakness.

There had been a period adjustment for the crew as well, while they got used to announcing themselves when they entered a room, and describing what they could see when they looked at a screen or document. The had all needed to negotiate how much help Rip wanted and come to an agreement on something less than they wanted to give, but more than Rip really wanted to accept. Ray vividly remembered how Rip had snapped at Sara in frustration because he’d accidentally spilt cereal in the galley and then she’d cleaned it up. The ensuing argument had been stupid but impressively angry. Rip had argued he’d spilt it through lack of care and should have been the one to clean it up. Sara had pointed out that she could do it much more easily, but Rip was frustrated at the loss of independence because Sara never would have tidied up for him before he lost his sight. Sara realised with embarrassment that he was right and apologised, but Rip had stormed off to brood. Eventually he relented, also apologised, and attempted to let Sara do a bit more for him because some things were just harder than they used to be. Neither had been exactly happy at the outcome, but everyone was still learning how they handled the new normal.

Mentally, Rip had bad days and good. Sometimes he screamed in his sleep and other days he couldn’t sleep at all. Gideon occasionally called Ray or Sara to wrestle him from a bad dream, or Ray would come out of a late night/early morning session upgrading his suit to find Rip sat in the kitchen with wild hair and tired eyes, drinking a mug of camomile tea in his pyjamas, without his sensors or glasses. When that happened Ray would talk about his new upgrades or the last episode of Star Trek that he’d watched and Rip would listen until he felt able to go back to bed. Ray had long since run out of stories about the Atom’s exploits to tell Rip, but Rip liked him to tell them again on the really bad nights when he wasn’t going back to bed. Ray’s voice still seemed to be something that Rip found calming and Ray was happy to be there for his friend.

Undoubtedly Rip was suffering from PTSD and depression, but his crew understood and didn’t push him to be back to his normal self. Half of them had been where he was now at some point. They let him have days when he stayed in his quarters and did nothing, but someone would take him food and remind him they cared. And when something triggered a memory of his torture and he had to take deep breaths to still a panic attack or his awareness faded from the room, they were there to offer support. Gideon had deployed her psychiatry programs to help Rip deal with his weeks in the pipeline, and the two of them spent time every day doing talk therapy and exercises to improve his mood. Gradually, slowly, Rip was getting better.

There were, of course, times when Rip allowed his self-pity to get the better of him and he sulked impressively. When that happened Mick took it upon himself to issue a blunt reminder that actually things weren’t that bad, usually with additional swear words. Or Sara decided that it was time Rip learnt how to become a blind ninja and dragged him to her sparring mat in the cargo bay, despite his protests. Blind ninja training was having mixed success, as the sensors had trouble with thrown objects, but hand to hand combat didn’t seem to be much harder for Rip than it had been before.

“It is impolite to stare,” said Rip, not looking up from his task. “And it is now pretty much impossible to sneak up on me, Ray, thanks to your sensors.”

Ray was jerked out of his thoughts. “Oh, sorry, just lost in thought.” He frowned for a second. “How did you know it was me?”

“I’m beginning to get a feel for height and build,” said Rip, “although on this occasion, Gideon told me you were on your way.”

“Ah,” said Ray. “So, how’s it going?”

“Well, I think I have a lead for us,” said Rip. He let his fingers skirt across the braille readout and then feel the image on the screen.

“Actually, I wasn’t talking about the next aberration, more whether you were done for today. I thought maybe you’d like to get off the ship for a bit,” said Ray.

Rip turned his eyes in Ray’s direction. He knew that, at best, he was a coloured blur to Rip. His friend appeared to think for a moment and then shook his head.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said, hands going to his pockets.

“Why not?” asked Ray, “you haven’t left the ship for weeks.”

“I haven’t really felt up to it,” he admitted. “Besides, we haven’t been anywhere that I could just go for a walk.”

“The sensor net will mean you can get the lie of the land,” said Ray. “Come on, let’s just go somewhere. Get a drink?”

“The last thing I need is to be even less steady on my feet,” said Rip.

“You’re fine on your feet.”

“On the ship, I’m fine on my feet… Now,” said Rip. There had definitely been an adjustment period where he’d been tentative and occasionally tripped over his own toes. “I know this environment, all the corridors and obstacles, even without the sensor net.”

“I see,” said Ray. There was a pause while Ray considered what to say next. “You can’t stay on the ship forever.”

Rip gave a reluctant nod. “I know. I’m just not ready yet.”

“Rip, the longer you leave it, the worse it’s going to get,” said Ray, taking a step closer to the former Time Master. “Come on, it’s a nice day, and you’re sort of home.”

“1990s London is not home. The Waverider is home, Ray,” said Rip, quietly.

Ray smiled a small smile at Rip. “I know.”

He really understood what Rip meant, and how vulnerable he was feeling. He couldn’t see trouble coming anymore. The sensor net stopped him from bumping into things but it wasn’t the same as a pair of eyes. On the Waverider, he was safely wrapped in metal, with Gideon keeping him informed of what was going on and he had the monitors that they’d set up for him. Outside, the real world had none of those things.

“But,” said Ray. “I kind of fancy one of those martinis they do at that bar in Soho we went to during the mission.”

“We could sit in the parlour and drink my whiskey instead,” pointed out Rip.

“I’m really not a whiskey person,” said Ray.

“Yes, I got that from when you nearly choked on my good scotch the other day,” said Rip. He let out a long sigh. “Fine, we can go out for a drink.”

“Awesome,” said Ray. “Let me grab my jacket.”

Rip nodded. “I just need to get something from my quarters and I’ll meet you at the hatch.”

Ray wasn’t sure what that might be, but he went to his own quarters and picked up his jacket, pocketing the Atom suit at the same time. Rip was waiting for him when he reached the exit hatch. He was wearing dark glasses and carrying a white cane.

“Stylish,” said Ray.

“Hardly,” said Rip, “but I prefer not to scare people, and given the era, the prop is necessary.” Rip’s eyes still bore scars from his torture and subsequent treatment to restore what sight they could.

“You’d be better wearing the glasses,” said Ray. “At least you can see colours and shapes.”

“I’ll be fine, I’ve got my sensor net,” said Rip, indicating his coat which now had the sensors incorporated into its fabric.

“Come on then,” said Ray, hitting the door sensor. He walked down the ramp and out into the sunshine.

Rip hesitated, looking back into the Waverider. For a moment, Ray thought that he’d turn back and he wasn’t going to come after all, but then he seemed to pull himself together, take a deep breath, and he followed Ray out of the ship. He put the cane’s tip on the ground in front of him and tapped as he walked. Ray was somewhat sad that Rip was having to put on this charade, but it would have looked quite strange to see a blind person navigating confidently on his own.

“I’m fine, Ray,” said Rip.

“I didn’t say you weren’t,” said Ray.

“No, but you’re watching me,” said Rip. “I’m not going to break, and you got me off the ship, so mission accomplished.”

“I’m just worried,” said Ray. “You’ve been through a lot and this has got to be hard.”

Rip nodded. “Of course it’s hard. This isn’t how I saw my life going, any of it, but there are worse things than being blind. I can live with this and I will. You’ve already helped me immensely by allowing me more freedom of movement and independence than I would have had otherwise, and we could still yet find some miracle cure. It is unlikely, I admit, but we’re time travellers, so anything is possible. Now, I’m afraid signposts are my nemesis, so perhaps you could lead me in the right direction for this bar?”

“Oh, yeah, right. This way,” said Ray.

They walked through the streets of London and Ray described to Rip what he was seeing. Before long they had moved out of the park where they’d landed the Waverider and into the tall buildings of the city. The bar was reasonably close and did fantastic drinks. They both ignored the couple who stared at Rip’s cane and dark glasses as if they’d never seen a blind man before. They’d actually managed to attract very little attention and Ray was quite glad of that. Rip talked about ways that their current mission could have gone better, not lecturing as he’d done in the past, but observing ways that the team could be more efficient, and Ray discussed new sensor net upgrades.

“I find myself somewhat disappointed that blindness doesn’t lead to superhuman improvements in my hearing or other senses. Pop culture led me to believe that was a foregone conclusion,” said Rip.

Ray laughed at that. He was beginning to realise that, although dry, Rip did have a well-tuned sense of humour. He only ever showed it to those closest to him, and Ray was proud to number himself amongst those people now.

Their chat was interrupted by Rip’s com beeping and then Sara yelling at him.

“Where the hell are you?” asked Sara.

“At a bar in Soho,” replied Rip. “You’ll have to ask Ray for the address.”

Ray realised that neither of them had thought to let Sara know where they were going and he winced at the telling off they were about to get.

“I’ve been worried sick. I came looking for you and all Gideon knew was that you’d left the ship. You need to keep me informed if you’re going out,” said Sara.

“I’m with Ray, everything is fine, Sara,” replied Rip.

“Not the point,” replied Sara. “What were you thinking?”

“That I’m a grown man who can do what he likes?” suggested Rip, his tone teasing rather than confrontational. They knew that Sara could be protective and she’d been worried, but this was the kind of thing where Rip needed his independence. Sara wouldn’t have been concerned before Rip had lost his sight.

“It was my fault,” said Ray. “I just thought it would be nice to get off the ship for a bit.”

There was a loud sigh from the other end of the com. “It was a good idea, Ray, but next time… just let me know where you are.”

“Want to come and join us?” asked Rip. “I’m sure we could arrange a bar fight for you.”

“You’re already in trouble, Hunter, so I wouldn’t keep digging if I was you,” said Sara. Rip let out an amused half-laugh at that.

“But sure, give me the address,” said Sara.

They did and about twenty minutes later the rest of the crew barrelled into the bar, ordering all manner of drinks in a rather raucous fashion. Rip sighed, Ray laughed and Sara put out her flaming Sambuca, then downed it in one go as she took a seat at their table.

“This was a quiet bar a moment ago,” said Rip. “I was quite enjoying myself.”

“And now you’re not?” asked Sara. “We should be offended.”

“That wasn’t what I meant,” said Rip.

“At least you’re off the ship, which is a step in the right direction,” said Sara. “We were getting a little concerned.”

“Really? There was no need,” said Rip.

“I don’t know,” said Ray. “You still have some pretty bad days.”

“And I expect I will continue to have them for a while,” replied Rip. “But it is getting better, mainly thanks to you lot and your persistent attempts to annoy me back to good mental health.”

“We do our best,” said Sara. “You have seemed a little brighter lately.”

Rip nodded. “I’ve found myself rather enjoying my new role in the team, even if it has been something of an adjustment.”

“I was wondering,” said Sara. “Don’t you kind of resent us? I mean we got back everything that we lost because of the Spear. You’re the only one who didn’t get to have your life back.”

Rip’s head snapped around towards Sara. “Why would I ever resent you? I made the decision knowing the consequences. It would have been an unconscionable betrayal of my friends to let you die, and I couldn’t do that. Besides, time needs the Legends. Our last mission resulted in countless lives saved. It was worth every time I’ve bumped into a piece of furniture and every sleepless night. Given the choice, I would do exactly the same thing again.”

“It isn’t exactly fair though,” said Ray. They’d never talked properly about this.

“I didn’t get the impression that the Spear was interested in fair,” said Rip, taking a sip of his drink. “In many ways, it was lucky that it was me that used the Spear. I shudder to think what it might have demanded from the rest of you. But this was fitting. I was the guardian of the Spear, and I failed in my duty. It was only right that I should be the one to set things straight and that I should pay a price for my failure.”

Sara was shaking her head. “You didn’t fail. I had no idea that’s how you thought of this.”

“What was it, if not my failure to protect the Spear, that led to all of this? I should have found a way to destroy it, just as Thawne planned to. I made a mistake and I paid for it. I’m lucky that the Spear only wanted my eyesight and not my life. That’s all there is to it,” said Rip.

“There’s a bit more to it than that,” said Ray. “The Legion of Doom didn’t have to do this. This is their fault not yours.”

“There will always be bad men trying to do bad things, Ray,” said Rip. “It’s our responsibility to stop them.”

“That we can agree on, but you don’t get to take all the blame,” said Ray. “We failed to get the blood of Christ and destroy the Spear when we had the chance.”

“Hey, there’s plenty of blame to go around,” said Sara, starting on a beer that Mick plonked down on the table for their Captain. “I didn’t make the best decisions either.”

Everyone stared at their drinks for a moment, before Ray shook his head.

“This is all too depressing. I didn’t bring Rip out to make him more miserable. We’re all alive and the Spear is gone. Let’s celebrate,” said Ray.

Rip’s eyebrows raised. “Well, when you put it that way…”

Mick returned with more beers. “You lot look like you’re attending a funeral,” he proclaimed.

“Yeah, we’re done being serious,” said Sara. “Team Legends haven’t had a drunken night out in a while. Let’s drink.”

That was the start of an epic Legends bar crawl around the pubs and clubs of Soho, that Rip did _not_ want to go on, but they dragged him along anyway. By the end of the evening, everyone was happily drunk, including Rip, and Ray had discovered that alcohol screwed with the signals from the sensor net to Rip’s brain in the same way that it screwed with his inner ear’s perception of which way was up. At which point, Ray decided to take Rip back to the ship because he was wobbling and bumping into things. They supported each other all the way back to the Waverider, stumbling through the corridors and into Rip’s quarters, where they both collapsed on the bed and had to disentangle their arms and legs from one another.

“We are going to pay for this in the morning,” said Ray.

“Oh yes, I imagine we’ll have the mother of all hangovers,” said Rip. “Luckily Gideon has good painkillers.”

“That was fun, though,” said Ray. “Did I dream Mick singing karaoke?”

“Unfortunately not,” replied Rip.

“Well, at least I’m not going mad,” said Ray. There was silence for a moment as both men failed to move and Ray tried to work out if he could get back to his quarters without falling over or throwing up on the floor. He decided it wasn’t worth trying.

“Ray,” said Rip, slightly muffled by a pillow. “You know you saved my life?”

“Did I?” asked Ray. The room was spinning just a little.

“Yes, I’d have given up in that cell if it hadn’t been for you,” said Rip.

Ray frowned. “Nah, you’re the immovable object. I remember. Too stubborn to die or give Thawne what he wanted.”

“I nearly gave up. I was close. But you kept telling me those stories of how the Atom had saved the day and I couldn’t give up when you reminded me of your own heroism every night. Even when I could hardly think straight, I could hear you voice,” said Rip. “You helped me hang on.”

“Hey, I wasn’t going to leave you there alone. Even Janitor Ray wouldn’t do that,” said Ray.

“You have a good heart, Ray,” said Rip, “don’t ever change.” Rip closed his eyes, clearly heading towards sleep.

“Hey, Rip, you saved me too,” said Ray. “You reminded me who I was. You helped me build the transreality multiplexer. You reminded me that I really am a hero.”

“Not a hero,” mumbled Rip, sparking the beginnings of disappointment in Ray’s chest before Rip continued. “You’re a Legend.”

Ray smiled. “Yeah, it’s so much better than being just a hero.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you've enjoyed this foray into AU Doomworld. I'm debating writing a sequel to this one because I like the idea of blind-ninja Rip, acting as mission control while the Legends get themselves into trouble. However, after all this torture, I think I might try something a bit more fluffy for my next fic.


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